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toontails · 4 years ago

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Toon Quest|| Reader Insert

Chapter 1: Like an Open Book

Ah...yes. A quiet, quiet neighborhood--oh, hello! I didn't see you all there. Haha, hello. I am your narrator, yes. I know, every convenient film or novel needs one, am I annoying you? Sorry, just getting into the groove, because I have a story for you all today.

The birds chirped, singing a melody that could repeat in anyone's head hours on end, the warmth of the sun on a summer morning, the dew on the grass waiting to greet people from their sleep, the crisp air that gave that comforting chill to start everyone's morning off.

A blue bird--a toon bird at that. It's simple look would seem out of place for anyone that doesn't live in this world. You would find it odd to see a dainty blue bird with its blue eyes standing out from any other ordinary bird. Simply--because it's a cartoon, or a Toon as we like to call these guys.

The bluebird delicately flapped its wings, its eyes closed with a calm expression on its face, soaring over to a house. Where it slowly yet softly placed its talons on a sill of a window, which was closed. The blue bird peered into the window, it could see a girl laying in her bed, asleep. Her back turned from the window and her breathing ever so softly inhaling and exhaling. Sound asleep.

Ah, it seems little blue birds want to sing a song to wake up our friend. Go ahead little birdie, give us a song.

The bluebird gave an excited expression. Taking in a big inhale, it's chest becoming larger before it lets out a nice melodic loud;

"COCKLEDOODLEDOOOO---!!"

Y/n flinched quickly and shot up, snorting abruptly from her sleep she was so deep into. Her eyes wide open and heart beating in her chest, the sudden noise scared the poor soul!

The bluebird lifted a wing to its beak to hide its from and muffle and snickered mischievously at the reaction.

Oh, you sneaky little rascal. Well. Now that she's up. Let's get this show on the rode shall we?

"Okay. We have 3 tickets for 2PM. But I want to go and get gas first, your dad drained the gas yesterday--"

Y/n sat in the passenger seat of the car, her mother talking on and on of the 103 things she had accomplished in the day, a busy woman, but she got things done. Music blared through the speakers as she spoke, but Y/n busy scrolling through her phone to pay the woman any mind, which her mother noticed. Glancing at her daughter, the lady gently jabbed Y/n's ribs, causing Y/n to tense up at the sudden jab and made a small noise at the sudden feeling.

"Hey-Hey, are you even listening to me?" Her mother smiled at Y/n. Y/n turned her phone off and nodded. "Yes, You were ranting about errands. And your lottery tickets." She said. Her mother had her focus on the road, but the smile was still glued to her face, being able to drag her daughter with her, was a way to spend time with Y/n. The highschool graduate had been busy in the house for most of the time...well...basically relaxing, of course she did things around the house, but the mother wanted to take her daughter to her to work, to experience mother and daughter time.

"So. What exactly are we going to do today?" Y/n asked. Sitting up in her seat as she watched the builds pass by.

"Well. I was thinking, maybe a movie? Walk in the park maybe? But, before anything. I have to drop off some paperwork at the studio."

Ah, yes. Y/n's mother worked as a secretary at a studio, not such a big role, nevertheless, it was a job with the big leagues...in a way!

In this particular area, she worked for a company named JoeyDrew, years ago it was formerly known as MeatlyStudios, the company had history, Joey Drew, who was originally the owner, but with many cases on his back for various reasons, that was not classified to the public, but within his arrest the company was given to better hands and care, a man named Henry Stein.

Y/n had never really stepped foot into the building her mother worked at, of course she knew what shows were produced there as she saw some of them play on television countless times as any other film out there. Living with a world of toons, you were born into a world with Toons and humans and things are normal, so, heating about going to her job didn't raise too much excitement.

But, it didn't hurt to get a glimpse at the workplace her mother works in.

"Well, would look at that--she looks just like you!"

Starting at the middle aged woman that circled from around the counter with a joyful smile. Y/n's mother gives a welcoming smile to her co-worker and she grabs Y/n's hands and shakes it. The silver name tag, which had the woman's name engraved in the silver with a cartoon horns coming from the bottom read; 'Annie'

"Hey, Annie, I'm just stopping by to drop off these files." Y/n's mother placed a beige portfolio on the counter as Annie gently grabbed Y/n's hand, giving her a firm welcoming shake. Y/n gave a close lipped smile to Annie as the woman mostly had her focus on her.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Y/n spoke, the lady smiled and nodded. Her hand slipping from Y/n's grasp before placing her hands behind her back, looking at the simplistic formal uniform, Y/n took in the attire, a black blouse and dress pants, but Y/n wasn't paying too much attention to that, she looked at the white pearls that formed a necklace. Annie had turned to look at Y/n's mother as she then started to speak, not paying much attention to their conversation. Instead, she observed her surroundings in the lobby of the studio. Beige carpet, and clear windows to show the parking lot that was being filled by the minute for many interns, animators and other people that work for the industry.

On the walls were some posters of the many shorts and animated films of Bendy the devil. The main protagonists of the many shorts, and from what Y/n could remember, one of the first characters introduced by Joey Drew and Henry Stein. The fluorescent light made the posters look more alive and exciting. Her optics danced around the studio, before landing on a cardboard cut out--she assumed it was a cardboard cutout. Of Bendy. Not finding much interest in the cutout, she decided to look back over to her mother to see if she was about ready to leave, but seeing Annie and her mother speaking, going over the paperwork in the portfolio. A sudden moment from the corner of her eye caused her to look back over, her eyes landing on the Bendy cutout. The black and white demon only stood there with its famous grin and pie cut black eyes.

"..." Y/n's slowly looked back at her mother, yet again, and once again. She saw movement. Looking back over to the cut out again, she was astonished to see it was gone. With much confusion, she would have suspected someone for moving it, though, no one seemed to be paying attention to her general direction as it was the early morning and people were too busy doing work.

A white gloved hand rose from behind Y/n's back and tapped her shoulder twice. Causing her to whip around in the direction to see the person, only to find nothing.

"What?" She finally spoke up in utter confusion, once again, a white glove rose and tapped her shoulder yet again, repeating the action by turning around, she was once again met with nothing. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She suddenly heard a tsk, glancing to her right. A few inches away from her, stood the all knowing black and white demon, Bendy. Though, living in a world with Toons where obviously Humans and Toons Co-exists. On any other day, or any other everyday toon, seeing one wouldn't be such a surprise, but seeing the star of the company, in the building, as Bendy and the the rest of the cast weren't exactly in the studio as often as anyone would think, more so being out for the most part--well. Doing their job. Starring as a cartoon in films.

"Whoa--how did..?" Y/n felt a smile form on her face. She never met Bendy. Or, any of the cast, yes, her mother worked for the studio, but that didn't mean she had the free will and access to meeting anyone she desired that worked with JoeyDree Studios.

Bendy rose a finger to shush Y/n, his grin expanding her so slightly.

"Well! I don't see why you're surprised, you're M/n daughter, huh?" He asked. Y/n was still busy looking at the toon, her reply was delayed for a moment, but she replied. Nodding she gave him a toothy smile.

"Yes. I am."

Bendy gasped, placing his gloved fingers on his mouth. "Well--why I outta--c'mere you!" Bendy extended his arms and pulled Y/n in a hug. Y/n lets out a short laugh before wrapping her arms around the room, feeling him pat her back. After a moment he pulled away, still with the smile on his face.

"Now, I can say I've met everyone's family." He said. Y/n took a moment to understand what he meant. Putting things together, she assumed he met everyone who worked in the studio building children or other relatives.

"I'm assuming you were going around to try and meet everyone's family members?" Y/n asked. Motioning towards the people in the lobby--but still motioning forward every one that worked in the studio. Bendy nods.

"Yes! You see I've met Jacob's 4 sons, Alex, Zachary, Matthew, Isaac, I've met Bethany's 6 nieces, such cute little dolls. I must say so myself, Amy, Sam, Debbie and Anna--" He ranted and went on and on about the many family members he had met, counting on his fingers, so many people he had met that were family members of the workers in the studios, so many, in fact, he already counted his 4 cartoonish fingers and grew a 7th one countings on them!

"--And then there was Mary, her uncle's fathers 3rd cousin who owned a diner down the street. Which he soon gave to her, and there I met her two sons and 2 daughters. Crazy thing is--they're quadruplets!" He tugged at his horns out of excitement that he couldn't seem to contain. Y/n held a smile on her face, listening to him rant, one thing about toons was that some acted exactly how they did on screen. Happy, go lucky, enthusiastic. Of course Bendy more was a mischievous character. But regardless, toons were very animated people--no pun intended. But they were very lively, really, they could bring a smile to anyone's face.

"And then, I met you. I believe. Is it?" He took a moment to think, tapping his chin in thought as he tapped his foot on the ground. But he quickly regained his original posture. "Yes! The last of it." He answered for himself.

"Well, it's nice to meet you too." Y/n said. Walking through the double glass door, which got Bendy's attention as he looked over, as well as Y/n. A middle aged man, formally dressed, speaking on a phone walks through the doors. He seemed to be in a busy call as he spoke in a low voice. It was Henry. Who also wasn't exactly seen around the studio as often as he was a busy many running a company, and a studio isn't the only place a businessman needs to be. Usually being in tons of board meetings for different ideas, financial things and much more that was needed for the company to work smoothly. Henry noticed Annie and Y/n's mother. He smiled and waved at them as he pressed a button on the elevator, the two waved back with graceful smiles and went back to their small meeting for...whatever it was they were talking about for the portfolio.

"Who's that?" Y/n asked. Bendy looked away from the elevator and to Y/n. "Well, Henry of course. He runs this place." Bendy answered. Nodding, Y/n knew of Henry, but never really met him--well she never met him, only heard about him occasionally in her mother's conversation about work.

"Don't tell him--but I actually run this place." Bendy said, cupping a hand over his mouth as if he were telling the most classified secret ever. But it did cause Y/n to snicker. Suddenly, with the sudden voice of the news lady on the TV that hung from the ceiling stole the two attention. Looking over, the screen showed a lady sitting in the news studio, giving a report.

"This just in. The book of vida has been reportedly stolen from a storage facility down in Manhattan, this ancient book was supposedly attended to be sent off overseas to the France Museum of Natural History, but unfortunately has been stolen, 2 security guards were guarding the building last night. When at approximately 3AM, a broken glass was heard in the North side of the building, upon investigation, the glass box was broken into and the book of vida was gone. An investigator, Detective Droopy, is now on charge and at the scene."

The screen soon switched to a Toon, which was Droopy the Detective, many interviews where there taking photos, the clicking of the cameras and the bright flashes didn't seem to faze him. Droopy was a notorious detective around town, being one of the first toons to have such an important role as a--'human' job, which would be working in the officer department--a detective. But, he was good at his job regardless...maybe because he was a dog?

He was standing in front of the building that allegedly was robbed, as in any other invertivew, he held a nonchalant expression.

"Yes, we all know how important this is, the good news is that we have a lead, and I feel that this can quickly give us all our answers on who, what, when and where." He said. From behind him, he pulled out one singular red feather, the auburn frigid plume, the color of the feather similar to the reddish hues of an Autumn season.

"I can say that this will help us out tremendously, and that's detective talk."

The interview went on in the background as Y/n lost interest in it, recently cases have been occurring around time, with homicides and robberies, for example, the arrest of Joey Drew was one case out of plethora of them. It seemed for the most part, Toons were the ones making these sudden flux of incidents, and lately some people didn't take good eye on how the Toons were portraying themselves. And some still stood beside toons regardless. Bendy had looked away from the TV screen as well, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well, I didn't expect things like this to go too far." He said.

"What's a book of Vida?" Y/n asked him, she rarely paid attention to any...politics? Well shouldn't really say the book had anything to do with politics, just simply not really paying too much attention with all the news had been going around specifically case wise, of course she knew the sudden rise and tension that was growing between Toons and humans. It was like a brick wall.

"It's a book. Or as people that are archeologists would look at is, as a book of prophecy. What's in it? I don't know, it's mostly been transported from different museums. I have heard that it has information about life--which--" he paused for a moment. Tapping his shoe on the floor in thought.

"It is about life in fact. It's called The Book of Life. Basically I've heard that it holds a prophecy, hero's or whatever, I dunno. I think that's really far fetched if you ask me." He said. Waving a gloved hand as if dismissing the idea. Y/n could understand him. A book speaking about future heros? Yes, far fetched. And...very fantasy like.

"Alright, that should be all for now." Y/n's mother spoke as she walked over. Looking in her purse for her car keys, obviously making it known it was time to leave. When she looked up and noticed Bendy standing next to Y/n, she smiled.

"Oh hey, I didn't know you were here too, did you tag along with Henry?" She asked. Bendy once again smiled brightly and nodded at her question.

"Yes, he's upstairs in a meeting and I decided to stop by with him, glad I did, because I was finally able to meet Y/n!" He motioned towards Y/n.

"Oh yes, I've tried getting her in here plenty of times, but I'm so busy, I can barely remember anything."

The two shared a laugh, obviously it wasn't the first time the two met, which would be understandable as Y/n's mother worked in the study and was bound to run into anyone major, like Bendy himself at times.

"Well, I'll leave you two be now!" Bendy smiled and waved goodbye.

Walking out of the studio, and once again feeling the heat of the sun spreading its welcoming warmth to the world after being in the AC for some time. Y/n and her mother walked to the car that was parked, the clouds were making themselves known, making it vaguely obvious that later it might rain.

"Alright, I'm hungry. Are you?" M/n said, unlocking the car doors with a click of a button, Y/n opened the door to the passenger side and slid in the car.

"I've been hungry since I woke up." Y/n said. Causing a chuckle to come from her mother.

"Don't worry, I'll find us something to eat."

The chattering of people in the restaurant was incoherent, plates clattering together, it wasn't as busy seeing it was still in the early morning. Staring down at the menu, as if Y/n didn't know what she was going to order, when really she did. Her mother spoke up.

"I would bring your dad something to eat when we get back, but I'll let him suffer since he didn't do the Landry last week." M/n said, staring at the menu with squinted eyes. Y/n cracked a small smile.

"Not even an appetizer?" she asked.

"Nope, he's good. There's food at home for him."

Y/n could practically hear the crying of her father with no food when they got back home with take out boxes. But she knew she wasn't going to change her mothers mind.

For a brief second she heard the people in the booth in front of her and her mother, talk about the news segment from this morning--which was barely even an hour ago.

"I can't believe that a toon went out of their way to steal a book"

"I know right, it's like there are more cases of toons committing crimes than humans."

"Hey mom." Y/n abruptly looked over to her mom and away from the two people talking. Her mother looked away from the menu and to Y/n. Raising an eyebrow.

"What's the Book of Vida? I've seen it on TV today." She said. Her mother set her menu down before speaking.

"It's a history book basically, a book of toons and humans, some people around the world see it as a prophecy book, it depends on who you ask." She replied.

"Why is it so important for someone to steal it?"

She was only replied with a shrug.

It seemed not many people knew the exact reason for the book, other than it being some sort of history book.

"There's a woman at work, she used to be a history teacher in High Schools, she told me that the reason why it's important is because it only opens when--I believe she said, a time comes, and when the right person that is part of the prophecy can open it."

Y/n quickly stopped fiddling with the straw for her drink. Perking up slightly in interest.

"Whoa, so it..only opens for people that are a part of the book?" she asked. Her mother took a moment to think, before she nodded.

"Yes. But, some people don't believe it. I can't give you too much detail in the book, I don't know much of it myself." The woman chuckled slightly at the smile on Y/n's face.

"Bendy told me he heard from someone that the book was about heros."

"Hell, maybe it might be."

Placing the straw back into the cup, Y/n took a moment to think, information on that book was nice to hear, but, with the sudden tension of Toons and Non-Toons. It was evident now.

"How do you feel about the toons and some cases revolving around them?" Y/n asked her mother. Her mother gave her an expression, well. More of a dissatisfied one.

"Y/n. I work with Toons. Anyone that starts going against a toon for making a crime when humans did it for years on end are just dumb as hell, even toons have breaking points." She chuckled. Y/n smiled at her and looked at her drink.

Her mother went back to looking at the menu for the 5th time they spent that time in the restaurant.

After hours being out, Which needed with M/n having to take a visit to the bank, the two made it home, the sun on the verge of setting, the clouds overtaking the sky, with its various shades of gray, walking into the house, Y/n's mother was on the phone, more likely for it being something that had to deal with work, so she walked off upstairs to her room, to have the call in there.

Y/n placed the take out bags on the counter, her father was upstairs most likely asleep. Walking over to the couch in the living room, Y/n sat down on the couch and sighed in relief to finally sit down. Feeling the tension in her leg be put at ease from standing and walking around with her mother for hours. Removing her phone from her pocket, and not even a second later, both of her parents came down stairs. Her mother was still dressed in her clothes, and her father was lazily slipping on a shirt.

"Um--where are you guys going?" Y/n asked. Her father motioned towards her mother. "She's going to work, they just called her in. I'm tagging along, because your mom says so."

"I sure did." Her mother said as she dug through her purse. Taking out another set of keys she placed them on the kitchen counter. "If you're going out to get anything. Here's the keys to your dad's car. Be careful though, it's going to start raining soon--"

"Oh man! What the hell, you guys didn't bring any food for me?!" Y/n's father was searching through the bags, but to avail. Only finding two take out boxes for Y/n and M/n.

"You'll be fine. Get to the car." M/n ushered her husband out the door in a hurry, who groaned heavily. Y/n only smiled and shook her head slowly.

"Oh, and take the trash out. We'll be back soon!"

And with the closing of the door, the two left out. Y/n leaned back into the couch, letting the silence engulf her. Too silent.

Her parents were always busy, working that is. For the most part it was only Y/n at home for half the time, filling most of her days with just herself, her neighborhood was small, and mostly filled with kids, as Y/n was 18, and didn't exactly want to spend half her day with 8 and 15 year olds. Not that she had anything against them.

Slipping off her shoes, Y/n decided to take out the trash later, instead, feeling a familiar fatigue start to rush through her. Taking her shoes, she stood up and walked upstairs towards her room. Once opening her door and closing it. She tossed her shoes to the side and sat down on her bed where she placed her phone on the nightstand. Crawling onto the bed, she finally laid down and pulled the blankets over her to sleep.

Or. Try to sleep. The sudden shuffle from the side of her room caused her to open her eyes. Sitting up, she looked over to her shoes to see if they had maybe fallen over. But they were still in the same tossed position. One upside down and the other upright.

"..."

Shuffle shuffle

This caused Y/n to quickly hop from the bed with a gasp. Standing next to her night stand where she quickly grabbed a dictionary she used in English back in high school. Holding it tightly to use it as some sort of weapon, she looked around the room, and finally over to her window, where she found the little blue bird from this morning trying to get out of the room. But the window pane was too low for him to escape.

"Oh...it's just you.." Y/n muttered. The blue bird looked at her with its big eyes before looking back at the window. Obviously signalling her for help, which Y/n took heed of. She walked over to the window, and slid it open for the bird. It was already raining outside. The bird must have gotten in a while ago out of curiosity. The bird chirped in happiness before flying through the window, turning back to Y/n to look at her through the window. It waved one wing at her before flying off. Y/n waved back as well. Closing the window to not let the now cool air in. Y/n turned around to return the book back to her nightstand. But she came nose to beak with a toon.

"AAAAH!"

"AH!"

Y/n quickly tossed the dictionary onto the intruder, causing it to fall on the toon's face. Who fell backwards and onto the floor. Y/n quickly back into the wall. Glueing her back to the corner as she watches the person. The toon had its hands on its beak.

"AH-ow-ow--Ah! ¡¿Qué te pasa mujer?!" He spoke...spanish. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, her heart beating in her chest. What?? What was going on?

"Who are you?! Why are you in my room?!" Y/n shouts. But the toon didn't answer. Instead, stayed still on the ground. Hands covering its beak, which was mostly its face.

Taking a longer look, Y/n took note of it's auburn feathers, its beige sombrero was large, it resembled a rooster, a mexican rooster. He wore a red barlo jacket, with golden lining, and red charlo pants with spurs. He had on a belt, and what took Y/n by surprise were the gun holsters on his sides , packed with two 8 caliber pistols. This caused Y/n to gasp lightly and further take a step back. Taking caution of the Toon. The rooster removed his hand from his beak. Leaning back on his elbows as he looked around the room and soon his eyes landed on Y/n.

"I know this s-"

"Why are you in my house? Who are you?!" Y/n watched as the rooster slowly heaved himself off the floor, he took off his sombrero and dusted it off before placing it back on his head. He raised his hands to show he didn't have anything dangerous on him, though he didn't seem to notice the pistols in his holster.

"Mi señora, I mean no harm. You see my name is Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero González IIl." He then raised a finger.

"But, you can just call me Panchito, or Francisco! Either is fine, but I am here because this--" he pulled off the red book bag that Y/n didn't know he was wearing until then. Opening the bag. He pulled out a book. Black leather book. With golden lining. With words engraved on it in gold.

'Libro de la vida'

Under it, it was small, it was embralled into the book, in white.

'Book of Life'

Wait...it made sense. Y/n looked back at Panchito, the color of his feathers. Red. He stole the book.

"You're the one who stole it?" Y/n said quietly. But enough for him to hear. He slightly lowered the book.

"Yo no diría robar...I simply took something that will save mankind." He defends.

"You see. Libro De La Vida, is a book of the present. It picks who will make a right change! Ah,No puedo explicarlo, excuse my English, I am not very good at it, but. This Book--" he lifts it up once again.

"Is powerful. It has the answers for all sorts of bad things that people want to get their hands on. Genocide!"

"I-what? Genocide?" Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. And Panchito took that as a bad sign that he used the wrong term.

"AH, lo siento, I think I have used the wrong term, what is the term you use for when someone wants to wipe out an entire species?" He asks. Y/n blinked slowly.

"That's...that's genocide."

"Well then yes! Genocide!" He snapped his fingers with a smile.

"Wait-wait-wait. So you're meaning to tell me. You stole a book--broke into my house, to tell me about a fantasy book--"

"It is no fantasy book. This book leads us to people--people that are..chosen to help us, mi amigo! No other person can open this book. But me, and you, and whoever else says it is worth opening it. I know it sounds fantical--but you have to believe me, see. Look." He opened the book quickly, and almost immediately, it shot out of his hands and flew towards Y/n's direction, jabbing her in the torso. Knocking the wind from her.

"Ow!" Y/n wheezed and held onto her torso, now seated on the ground from the impact. The book was now on the ground as well. It flipped through the pages as if wind was circling in the room. It landed on a page. It's blank yellowish paper soon filmed with a name in cursive.

'Y/n L/n'

Y/n stared at the page. In..awe. Astonished. Confused. Excited? Mixed emotions turning into inner turmoil, this was real. The page gave a faint glow. Soon. Panchito slowly walked over. Cautious of Y/n not to scare her. He soon sat down beside her.

"Look." He said. He grabbed her wrist and pressed her palm into the page. Removing her hand, her hand print was seen in ink.

"You are the only human that has access to the book of Vida."

"Why the only? There aren't other people?" She asked.

"The book is a story, of history, of the past, present and future. It spoke about 8 hero's, or warriors, one of these 8 hero's, was a human. And in this--"

He motioned around the two.

"Generation. You. Are that human."

Eight, heros in total. That includes Panchito and Y/n.

"So...if it opens for you and me..where are the other 6?" She asked. Panchito hummed before tapping his finger to his beak.

"No tengo ni idea, I do not know. The book has led me to you, I will think that as time passes, it will collect energy to track down the rest." He says. Y/n was thinking of 101 things, questioning everything. Staying silent for a moment she found the most reasonable question.

"How did you know you were a part of the book?" She asked him. Panchito perked up slightly.

"A dream, more of a vision, but It was a reoccurring vision I've had for years, I've always dreamed of various people, but they were.." He tried to think of a best term for his analogy.

"Shadows! And, the book. Right here. When I found out it sailed here to America, I traveled here." He seemed to pride in his short adventure safely to America, Panchito felt that he never really had done anything as important as to seek out a book that could have not given him answers all along. His adventure was purely based on a vision that he had, he didn't seem to see the problem, but Y/n did. A vision? Making an entire trip to another country, just because of a vision. If the book was just a fib and nothing more than an actual history book. The trip would have been for nothing.

She was about to open her mouth to speak, but Panchito quickly stood up and took a hold of her hand to shake.

"But! It's a pleasure to meet the first person in this group mi amigo! Tú y yo formaremos un buen equipo cuando trabajemos juntos para encontrar a los demás!" Y/n let's put a small laugh that sounds wobbly from the hasty hand shake. Panchito soon pulled her off the floor to stand her up next to him. Both around the same height, the toon only inches taller than her.

Y/n picked up the book and opened it once again. Flipping through the pages, some were blank and others were filled with different languages, and odd pictures, that Y/n was pretty sure could explain something.

"You were on the news this morning Panchito." Y/n closed the book and looked over at the rooster. He looked at her for a moment in confusion, before understanding what she said.

"Oh yes! Ah. My poor feather." He turned his lower part to the side slightly to show her two of his auburn feathers. "One of the guards almost grabbed onto me. And they pulled my feather." He said. But he didn't seem too worried about the fact that he..indeed committed a crime. Or he probably did and he didn't seem to really care.

"No. This is serious. They are looking for this book, for whatever reason." Y/n paced the room. Staring down at the leather black book. Panchito watched her with his arms by his side.

"This doesn't make any sense. What is it that's in danger, and why does the government want this book so badly. It can't be just to put up in a museum."

"We should find the others!" Panchito said, more of an announcement. Y/n turned back to him, he picked up the book once again, and grabbed Y/n's wrist before he started over to her room door to exit. But Y/n tugged her arm away. "Whoa--no."

He turned around with a puzzled expression as he looked at her.

"No?"

"If you came from a different country, entirely different from where I am. What makes you think any other person would be in the same area here?" She asked.

"Aha! Mi señora, I've sailed here. You can come with me, surely it's better than sitting here all day." He said. Y/n ignored the fact he assumed she slouched around all day, but she shook her head.

"I can't just up and leave. Not out of state or the country-"

"Well maybe around town?"

"At 7PM? It's raining."

"Ah...you are very good with excuses!"

"I'm not m--no. We can't go anywhere. You're a fugitive now."

"But they don't know my face!"

"They have your feather. They can easily track you down with that simple thing of evidence called DNA. Or whatever they'll use to know who you are. But whatever it is. You're wanted. A wanted bird--"

"Oooh. I wonder if a bounty hunter will put money on my name. Son of a gun! I've always wanted that to happen to me, it'll be a brawl till we see gore!"

Y/n placed a hand on her face and rubbed her temple.

"We. Can't. go--"

"Oh please. The rest are Toons! The rest of the team should be fairly simple to find. You were the hardest to track down, my friend."

"I'm the only person you tracked d-"

The book abruptly flew from Panchito's grips. Causing him to look down at his hands in surprisement. The book flew past Y/n. She quickly turned around and saw the book shot straight through the window. Shards of glass broke, the sound of glass breaking echoed. Cutting the two from their back and forth of bickering on what they should do next.

CRASSH--CRACK!

the book floated in the dark of night. A golden glow illuminated from the book. Panchito and Y/n stared at the book in awe and utter disbelief. What? What is it doing?

Soon. The book quickly dashed off, the only thing being seen was the erradecents of the glow, trailing down the street. It was a trail.

"It's a trail…" Y/n muttered slowly.

"A trail! It's leading us somewhere!" Y/n grabbed her shoes and ran past Panchito.

"Let's go!"

She stomped down the stairs, jogging over to the kitchen counter, she took the car keys her mother gave her, Y/n unlocked the front door and ran outside. Panchito followed in suit--obviously not forgetting to close the door behind him.

The rain pelted at the two, but Y/n slipped in the car as well as Panchito--who took the passenger side.

"See, things are working well in our favor." Panchito said with a smile.

"Let's hope it actually leads us somewhere." Y/n said. Turning the keys in the ignition. And backing out of the driveway, before safely driving down the road.

Unbeknownst of the two. A silhouette watched the car descent down the street. It's gaze looking over and landing on the window that was broken that the book had caused.

The black double doors opened up to reveal Henry, who walked in the lobby, Annie was still on Duty, she gave a small nod to Henry with a smile, M/n was standing at the desk filling out paperwork. Too busy to really pay much attention to Henry.

Over up on the 3rd floor. Was Bendy. He was still waiting for Henry to finish his work. Much to his luck. He was nowhere near finished. Sitting in one of the smaller meeting rooms to look out the window, he was sitting in a chair when he noticed. A glowing spark in the distance. He assumed it was a bright star despite the clouds covering up the majority of the stars in the sky. But, nevertheless. He opened up the window to take in the view of the odd star. But it got closer and closer. But the devil didn't seem to take much heed on it.

He picked up noise at the bottom of the building. Causing him to gaze down and see figures hopping out of the car and into the building. But due to the lack of light because of the nightfall and being 2 stories up. He pushed that aside.

But, almost immediately, something slammed into his face. He flew off the seat and onto the floor, rolling over in a few summersaults before landing on his back. A book pressed into his face.

"...."

His tail twitched as he let out a painful wheeze from the harsh impact. He slowly raised a wobbly hand. And took the book off of his face. His dark eyes squinted at the leatherback book.

"What….?"

Meanwhile, Panchito and Y/n were about to barge into the building. But Y/n skidded to a stop. Placing a hand out in front of Panchito, thankfully he stopped as well. He took a moment to examine the 5 storey building. The glass, the gray and black color scale, he was pulling from his examination by looking back at Y/n when she started to speak.

"We can't just barge in. My mom works here. Plus. That'll give away we have the book." She said. Before quickly adding. "We also can't have you out in the opening, cops knowing your face now or not, we can't risk any thing.." Y/n stared at the glass door once moving over to the side where they wouldn't be seen. Panchito and Y/n stood under a lamp post.

"We sneak." He gave out the idea with a grin slowly forming on his beak. Y/n stared at him for a moment. "Sneak in? There's at least 10 or so people in the lobby, this is a studio. We can't just walk in whenever we want." Y/n tried to dismiss the idea, she was rarely ever in the studio. Today was her first day, she didn't know the layout nor the where any room was located, it would be noticeably harder to navigate around the building to find the book.

"Ah, every building has an emergency exit, chica." He moved his eyebrows up and down, as if sending a hint towards the idea, even though basically stated it.

She looked back at him. Well...of course! The backdoor!

"Oh. I forgot about the emergency exit."

"Thank me later, now, ¡Adelante!"

The exit sound that illuminated the dim area glistened and glamored, basically calling out the two to its glow. Panchito lifted a foot and shook his talon. The water from the puddle he stepped in. Flickered everywhere. Causing some of the water droplets to land on Y/n. She shielded her face and a small laugh came from her.

"Now." He walked over to the door, and with swift motion, pushed it open, he walked in the building and held the door open for Y/n, who walked in.

"Thank you." She said. Slowly trailing off, Y/n looked at their surroundings. Panchito did as well. The door slowly closed behind the two, it echoed down the hallway. A black carpet under their feet, soaking up the water and white walls. Though Panchito wasn't facing the direction Y/n was. He placed his hands on his hips.

"Hm, odd. Muy extraño…" he muttered under his breath, looking at the emergency exit door. Y/n looked over her shoulder to Panchito before turning around to face the door as well.

"What?" She asks him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong. But--Is this door not supposed to work as an emergency system? Should it not have an alarm system?" He asks. Y/n stared at the door for a mere moment.

"Now that you said something about it y-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The two jumped at the sudden sound of the alarm going off. Three beeps would omit before going silent for a split second, before the 3 beeps would occur once again.

"God-lee! I thought I fixed this damn thing!" A voice echoed from the hallway and set of footsteps. Y/n quickly turned around towards the stairwell where she saw a shadow of someone ascending down.

"Here--" Panchito grabbed Y/n's wrist and quickly ushered her and himself over behind the staircase. Y/n quickly pressed her back towards the corner. Behind the stairwell, as Panchito stood in front of her. Though, curiously. He peeked from behind the staircase. Y/n didn't notice as she was busy dusting away her shirt from the dust invading the air. Obviously the emergency stairwell was neglected for cleaning. When she spotted Panchito peeking to look at the man. Y/n shuffled over as well. Peering under Panchito to look at the man. His back was turned. But he wore a gray button down, a few ink spots painted on the shirt. Jeans and boots. In his free hand, he held a mop. He obviously was the janitor. A head of brown slick hair, it only took a couple of smacks to the panel that operated the fire alarm for the emergency exit to stop abruptly with its beeping.

Once the hallway went silent. He turned around, the two ducking back behind thr stairwell before they could be seen. Y/n couldn't get a glimpse of the man's name tag. Not that she really cared too.

"I swear if that thing goes off one more time this week, I'm outta here.." He muttered back up to floor level. Listening to his footsteps ascend further away, and soon another door closing, echoing throughout the hall. The sound of water droplets hitting the concrete floor in the distance wherever in the hallway. As well as the AC that filled the odd ambience of the hallway.

Soon Panchito and Y/n exited from behind the stairwell.

"So much for a discreet plan." Y/n said before giving Panchito a sarcastic expression. But nevertheless, he only smiled.

"We've made it inside the building, have we not?" He gave her a smile, which. He was right. At the end of the day, the two still made it in the building without getting caught.

Y/n turned and started walking up the stairwell, Panchito following behind her.

"Now we need to locate the book. It could be anywhere in this place. I saw it fly through a window but I couldn't catch what floor it was." Y/n went on, reaching the 3rd floor. Hearing Panchito's footsteps near her as she peered through the small window into the hallway, seeing a few doors were closed on the other side of the hallway, a few people walked down the hall to wherever they were going. The sound of muffled music emitted from down the hall, a tune that was vaguely from the early 40's. The room must have not been too far if the two could hear the cheers and singing.

"Ooh--I love parties." Panchito pushed up the door, and immediately walked out of. Y/n quickly grabbed his tail feather and tugged on it to pull him back.

"No! You'll get us caught!" She whispered to him hastily, Panchito cringed in pain at the tug, he whipped around and grabbed at her wrist.

"¡Ah, cuidado con las plumas de la cola, chica!" Y/n couldn't understand what Panchito said, but she was glad it stopped him from wandering off. The two stood in the doorway of the now opened door in the empty hallway.

"We can't just wander everywhere." She said. Panchito shuffled on his feet, he wanted to explore where the cheering was coming from, but he stayed glued next to Y/n.

"Can we at least take a peek at the gathering?" He asks. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. "That's not giving us any answers--"

Just as she was about to more than likely prove Panchito wrong. A voice from the room a few doors down spoke up.

"Hey! Henry, you finally made it. Where's Bendy?"

"He's in one of the meeting rooms, last I checked on him, he was reading. Oddly. He should be down soon."

Y/n and Panchito stared at each other, both seemingly trying to put two and two together.

"Are you..?"

"I think we may be on the same page." Y/n finished, turning in the opposite direction to peer down the hall. "I'm taking a safe guess Bendy found the book, we just need to find him." Y/n said. Panchito hummed in thought. Placing a hand on his hip.

"Bendy...you mean the--" he lifted his hands to the side of his head, lifting his index fingers to form two horns on the side of his head. Y/n looked at him, and the silly interpretation of the cartoon demon. With a smile. She nods.

"Yes, him. Though, I don't know how many rooms are on this floor. So he'll be a bit tough to fi-"

The door from across from them opened. Revealing the demon, his eyebrows stitched together in a more perplexed and irritated expression. In his hand he held a book, the book! That was their book! Bendy was muttering under his breath, but abruptly stopped in his tracks and when he spotted Y/n and Panchito in the emergency exit. His slanted black pie cut eyes that were one resembling an angry and irritated expression. Immediately widened in surprise when he saw the two. Mostly towards Panchito as he had never seen him before.

Y/n didn't expect to be seen so quick--which...wasn't much of a surprise as she wasn't an expert in sneaking in areas she wasn't supposed to be in.

"Oh...Hey...Bendy.." Y/n smiled and lifted a waved. Panchito looked between the two.

"Ah. A demon? I was thinking he was more of a bull." Panchito said.

"I didn't know you were here today, I thought you went home." Bendy walked over to the two, but Y/n didn't want anyone to walk out and spot the two--mostly for Panchito's sake.

"It's a long story, but. We need that--" Y/n pointed towards the book in his gloved hands. Bendy looked down at it. "Oh! This? I was just about to toss this away, it hit me in the face and--"

"Ah! It hit you? Well that--" Panchito was cut off when Y/n grabbed Panchito's jacket, pulling him back into the emergency stairwell. And closing the door quickly. Bendy looked at the two through the door in confusion.

"Y/n! Can you believe it? We found the other, a bit less intimidating if you ask me, but nevertheless, he is a part of our equipo." Panchito hopped from one foot to the other, a small cheer. Y/n ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Bendy? Out of all people the book could have chosen. It chose the one person that worked in the same facility as her mother. What if he didn't take it well? What if he destroyed the book? What if he tells the cops about who had the book, which would not only get Panchito in trouble but also herself as she was literally helping the rooster out!

Things she should have thought over, biting off more than what she could chew.

Panchito noticed Y/n's distressed expression. He took a few steps towards her and placed a hand on her arm.

"Ah, cariño, don't be stressed, all will work out fine, okay? Things are a bit sudden and bumpy, but look! Two in one day!" He extended his arms and smiled. Y/n felt the corner of her lips stretch in a smile. Calming down and melting away the problems...for now.

Looking over. Bendy was still standing outside the door.

"Alright. We need a meeting then."

The three stared down at the leather book that was laying on the meeting table, it seemed now lifeless after flying through the neighborhood.

“So…” Bendy removed his gaze from the book and to Y/n and Panchito.

“Explain to me, what’s going on?”

“I mean...I thought it would be self explanatory, a book just hit you in the face and you’re coming to me for answers?” Y/n muttered under her breath. Bendy only looked at her, at first with a blank expression, until he seemingly furrowed his ‘eyebrows’

Deciding on to stop fooling around and actually try to get to the bottom of the raising questions, Y/n glanced over at Panchito. Who was looking at Bendy, more curiously than anything else.

“This book, we talked about it this morning.” Y/n said, turning to look back at Bendy. Bendy’s expression softened before a look of realization appeared on his face, his black pie-cut shaped eyes looked over at Panchito, who noticed the demon looking at him, Panchtio smiled and waved.

“He had the book--or--stole it.” Y/n said, motionion towards Panchito, he only frowned, turning to face towards Y/n and crossing his arms.

“No! Why must you say I steal? I never steal, I simply took something that didn’t belong where it was.” Panchito dropped the last sentence to a mumble, almost as if sleepily saying it. Y/n only turned her gaze back to Bendy.

“Either way, that’s the book, it flew away, because it’s looking for people that revolve around the book, or the..prophecy. I know this sounds far fetched and crazy, and...illegal? Bu-”

“I’ve been hit in the face by a flying book, I don’t think anything we’re about to discuss is too out of this world.” Bendy said. He picked the book up and once again examined it. His gloved fingers feeling the texture of the leather book against his fingers.

“Well, apparently...the book only opens up to people that are a part of the book, it opened for me and Panchito, and I’m assuming that if it flew to you and tracked you down, you’re the next member to...whatever..this is.” She motions towards the three of them. Panchito then nods, raising a hand to interject.

“Indeed! Y/n, is the only human that can access the book, as it says in the wordings of the book, the rest are toons. In all. There are eight of us.”

“8?” Bendy repeats, he seemed surprised by the number, his tail slowly lifting up. Panchito nods once again.

“Sí, señor--”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Bendy interrupts Panchito. Waving a hand slightly, Bendy closes his eyes to think for a mere moment. He raises a pointer finger before looking between Y/n and Panchito.

“Why..exactly is the book looking for people, how would we find the rest of the team? I would ask why exactly us specifically are involved around this, but I can tell, I won’t get a good answer from that, but that’s besides the point, but why is Y/n the only human involved in this, and what exactly is it that’s...bad for this thing to try and suddenly wake up and choose heroes for whatever reason?” Bendy lifts up the book slightly. Y/n listened to him, but she had no answer on her because...well she didn’t know, for the most part, those were the same questions she was internally asking herself!

So, she turned her head to look over at Panchito. Who with no problem, took the lead in asking.

“The book leads us to the people it is looking for, why and what it is that it’s warning us about, I do not know! Why us specifically? I also can not tell you, because I don’t know.” He said. Bendy looked back at the book. Y/n motioned towards it, having a small hunch of one of the questions.

“When I touched the book...I guess in a way, signed it, as if taking my signature, which I guess signaled it that I was found, maybe if you touch the book as well it’ll do the same for you.” Y/n said. Bendy opened the book, the golden light that was one seen before escaped from the crevices of the book, The debri sparkles floating from the pages. Bendy’s eyes widen in bewilderment and surprisement. The three stared down at the book, the golden glow illuminating from their faces.

Bendy had opened up on a blank paper, soon, his eyebrows furrowed yet again.

“It’s blank. I don’t---I don’t think it works for me.” He said before deadpanning. Looking between the two as if they were pulling his leg. Y/n could only shrug slowly. Panchito waved his hand and spoke. “Nonsense. As said, the book only opens for people that are chosen, it’s like a safe, and only the chosen people are the code to it, my friend, if it opened up for you, you are with us.” Panchito then rose his gloved hand, showing his palm.

“Ahora, place your hand on the page.” He told Bendy, Bendy did as told, holding the book with his left hand, and placing his right palm on the blank paper, soon, the golden light traced around his hand, similar to what it did for Y/n’s. Bendy soon lifted a hand up, seeing his hand printed labeled the paper in ink. The same ink soon scrawled a name above the hand print.

‘Bendy’

“Dear me…” Bendy whispered slowly, flipped a page quickly to the next, One that Y/n had yet to discover, though it was written all in a language she couldn’t understand, but pictures were drawn in what seemed to be red and black pigment paint on the beige paintings. Similar to how cave paintings were drawn. Panchito and Y/n moved closer to get a better look at the pictures, Bendy tilting the book so the three of them could examine it.

On the first page was a picture of 12 people in all, they all seemed to be jumping towards the 8 black figures, the black figures had white thin slanted angles, as if resembling resentful and angry eyes. Looking over to the next page, it showed the 8 black figures once again, One stood out from the 8, standing in front of the group, a lanky figure, but...really considering the fact that it was in all black, the features weren’t exactly too noticeable. But the picture had a lot going on, the 8 figures were hovering above what seemed to be a city, with figures of red pigment running away in fear, it seemed the 8 black figures were terrorizing the people, Bendy turned to yet another page, on the page the 12 blue figures were standing next to each other, one vaguely similar to a human and the rest had the exaggerated details of toons.

“I think you two have the wrong idea.” Bendy said, it took Y/n a moment to look away from the book. Glancing at Bendy who looked between Panchito and Y/n.

“There aren’t 8 of us, there’s 12 of us.” He said. Y/n scoffed.

“Twelve?! That will take years to find twelve different people. He--” She jabbed a thumb over to Panchito, pointing at him.

“Came from Mexico to find us, god knows wherever the others are located, we’re basically split apart. Eight people? Yeah, that seemed like a reasonable number, but twelve? No. I’m out.” Y/n crossed her arms, a scavenger hunt for now, 9 other people? Who were the even up against, it pretty much seemed like a suicicde job already, a stolen book, a wanted rooster, a telltale book that’s some sort of warning for some odd future armageddon. Red flags were everywhere!

Bendy closed the book and straightened his posture.

“Whoa, whoa. What do ya’ mean you’re out? This--” He lifts up the book slightly.

“This is our guide, our time to do right and-gosh. I assume it will stop something from happening that will be a problem to--oh, I don’t know. All of mankind! You’re a part of this as much as Panchito and I.” Bendy says. Panchito nods firmly in agreement, taking a step forward and standing next to the demon.

“¡Sí! He is right, chica! We all have to stick together.”

Y/n looked between the two, her eyebrow twitched slightly before furrowing.

“Are you serious? Do we look like the Justice League or something?”

Panchito actually took a moment to think.

“I was thinking more along the lines of--”

Y/n shook her head, dismissing Panchito’s thought to her rhetorical question. “It doesn't matter. But think about the danger we could be in, Bendy, you have shows to star in, you can’t just go missing to play superhero for...lord knows how long, and Panchito--”

“Actually.” Bendy cut her off, taking a few steps towards her before standing next to her.

“I’ve been meaning to take a vacation off, toots. Thanks for that advice though, real sweet of ya. But, we have things to do, now I don’t mind dragging you around if need be.” He smiled sweetly at her. Y/n deadpanned.

“That’s not funny.”

“This is serious talk Y/n, the world as we know it might be at stake.” Bendy motions around their area.

“Might be. It’s more than likely not a serious call, this stupid old book is probably broken.” Y/n flicks the book with the tip of her fingers in Bendy’s hand. Panchito suddenly appeared behind the two, wrapping an arm around Bendy’s and Y/n’s shoulders. Pulling them flushed against his sides.

“My friends! Think of this this way, endless possibilities and adventures, don’t you all want to feel the rush of the wind as we take off to go solve this mystery?” He looks between the two, letting the two go. A bright yet determined smile on his beak, he seemed to run from adrenaline, a wild hearted toon that yearned for wild things, to him this was exciting, brand new. Exhilarating!

Bendy looks at Panchito and then to Y/n. “See? He’s in, and I am too.” Bendy placed his gloved hand in the middle, his palm facing downward. Panchito hopped up and down quickly.

“Ay caramba! ¡Yo también quiero participar! I am certainly in!” He placed a hand on top of Bendy’s, Bendy’s smile widened before both he and Panchito looked at Y/n, who had her arms crossed, a sour expression written on her face, although it was much of a facade, she did...want to join. Not only was it a chance to finally do something productive--if she would even call it that. But she would break down the mystery of all that’s going on. As detective Droopy would say. The why, the when, and the where? She thinks it...it..wouldn’t hurt, they technically aren't breaking the law by wielding a book that is being searched for, not when it was for a good reason? Right?

“Come on...you know you want to.” Bendy mischievous tone interrupts her. Y/n sighed slowly. Placing a hand on top of Panchito’s who once again excitedly smiled at her.

“Fine. I’m in too. If one of us is wanted, then we all are.” She said. Bendy smiled and let out a boisterous.

“And if one of us dies, we all die together! Oath!”

“Oath!”

“Oa-wait no--”

But the three already tossed their hands up, taking the oath that Y/n was too late to decline for. Bendy could tell she was about to say something, but he only smiled and walked back over to the meeting table.

“Now, let’s see where the next one is!”

Annie was back at the front desk, seated in the chair scrolling through her phone to pass the time as the studio would be running late since Henry was back in the building. Soon, a figure walked through the door. Wearing a heavy black trench coat, the finest coat in town it seemed, the water droplets from the rain stuck to the trench coat, the black boots tapping yet squeaking on the linoleum floor, A black fedora tilted down, covering the face of the man, who stopped directly in front of the receptionist desk. Annie took notice, and she gazed up, turning off her phone and placing it on the desk, she stood up and smiled.

“Hello, what may I do for you today?” She asks. The man was silent for a moment.

“It’s me you dingus, I just sent you in here.” The voice was a husky yet deep voice. The blue eyes piercing at the lady. Soon Annie lost her posture, slouching slightly. Her voice changed, turning several octaves, a shrill and jagged voice emitted from her.

“Oh right, I don’t see why ya’ didn’t just walk in, the broad wasn’t even around, no one woulda’ suspect a thing.” Annie’s body morphed in and quickly dropped to the ground, only leaving a shadow that quickly zipped out of the receptionist desk, stopping right next to the man. Soon a short figure morphed into what could assemble a toon shadow. Only standing around half the height of the man.

“Go find the book. And take it.” The man ordered the shadow. The shadow stood stiff as a board before quickly saluting the man.

“Yes sir!” And soon, it zipped away, only seeming like a shadow on the floor zipping across the room. The man looked forward, only to look back over to his side when he saw the shadow zipped right back to him. The shadow sheepishly nudging the tip of its foot to the ground.

“Ah, who has the book again?”

“The girl and those two other idiots you fool!”

“Ah! On it!”

And once again the shadow zipped away. The man muttered under his breath shaking his head in annoyance,

“I don’t even know why I even deal with those two idiots…” He muttered. Soon, lifting a hand and pressing a hidden black button on the color of his trench coat jacket.

“Zot, come in. Zip just left to find the book. Is the toon still with you?” The man spoke into the two way radio.

From outside the two way radio reached to a black van, from inside thumping was heard, as if someone was hitting the inside of the van. Sitting in the driver seat was another stout shadow like toon, it’s blank eyes were closed, feet propped up on the steering wheel, he was asleep. Snoring ever so slightly, until he heard his commander speak on the radio. The static picking up the man in the trench coats voice.

“Zot, come in. Zip just left to find the book. Is the toon still with you?”

Zot--as he was referred to. Flinched quickly got up once hearing the voice. Quickly taking the walkie talkie, as it almost slipped from his hands multiple times. Zot soon spoke.

“Yes sir! The lil’ guy is still back there.” Zot stood up in his seat, placing a hand on the metal peephole slider, sliding it over and revealing a black abyss that was the back of the van.

“Hey...where’d he go…?” Zot muttered. Clenching the eye he wasn’t using as his blank white optic stare hardened to try and find the toon.

PPPPPFFFT!!

The droplets of saliva fell in his eye, causing Zot to flinch back and his head to hit the steering wheel.

Honk!

The air horn went off at the touch of the shadow toons head on the wheel. Zot quickly got up. Lifting a hand and flicking a button on the roof of the van. The lights came on in the back of the vam, where the hostage toon was located.

“Nice try, bunny.” Zot scoffed.

From the other side of the van. Sat a black and white rabbit, with blue trousers. His pie cut shaped eyes slanted, his arms crossed tighty.

“I’m a rabbit! For your information.”

“Same thing.”

This rabbit was known as Oswald the Lucky rabbit. A peculiar and mischievous character. Zot laughed and then sat back down in his seat.

“What’s the matter rabbit boy? Your luck is not much of a help? Seems like you’re runnin’ out of it.” Zot placed his feet back onto the steering wheel. Oswald got up. His ears slowly rose as he stared at the peephole.

“My luck is very much accurate, and good. Thank you very much..” He said. Zot only hummed in acknowledgment.

“Whatever you say. Boss’ll get that book, and the next thing you know, his plan will be in full action.”

“Where’s the book?” Oswald asks, leaning near the peephole. Zot motioned towards the building, that Oswald couldn’t see.

“The building. Don’t get your tail in a twist, you’ll see it soon.”

“Okay, let’s see what this bad boy will do…” Bendy places the book on the table. And opened it yet again. The book once again opened, the golden glow escaping from the pages, illuminating the room with its warm glow. Soon, the pages started to flip quickly, turning towards the middle of the book, a world map was located on the page.

“A map?” Y/n squints at the paper.

“Well, amigos. It is a map, perhaps it will help lead us to our next destination.” Panchito said, reaching over and flipping the page. At first the next page was blank, until an ink sketch of the U.S. was drawn. The ink splitting up to draw down the states in the country.

One state was completely covered in blank, as it marked. Or, targeted.

“Oregon?” Y/n whispered. Bendy looked closer to the paper with squinted eyes. Near the coast of Oregon, a red down bled through, as if marked by a dot. Bendy could mesmerize exactly where exactly to go.

“Duckburg.” He said. Y/n and Panchito looked at him. Though, Y/n hadn’t said anything yet. A quick look of realization quickly took over his face.

“Ah! ¡Oh, sí! ¡Oh, sí! ¡Oh, sí! ¡Qué buen trato! ¡Estoy muy emocionado! ¡Mi amigo, mi honorable amigo! Donal'” He screamed and yelled in passion of excitement. Hopping up and down, his arms wrapping around Y/n, causing her to hop around with him. But she placed her arms on his forearms.

“Wait! Wait! Panchito, calm down!” She said. Which he listened to her, coming to a halt, he removed himself from her. His tail feathers frantically frizzing up.

Bendy turned away from the book and turned to look at Panchito.

“I’m assuming you know someone from down there?” He asks. Panchito quickly nods.

“Yes! My blood! My friend! A true gentleman he is! His name is Donal’ A bit of a stubborn bull, but--by god, isn’t he one adventurous duck!” Panchito said. He spoke with such passion about his friend. Bendy pie cut shape eyes were slanted slightly, he was thinking who Panchito could be referring to by the name of...Donal’. Until Panchito finished his sentence with ‘duck’

Bendy quickly perked up.

“Duck? As in, Donald Duck? Sailor wearing, Donald Duck?” Bendy asks. Panchito nods quickly with a smile. Y/n heard of the duck. Obviously. He wouldn’t. But oddly enough, he didn’t live in the city of Hollywood L.A. like most notorious toons did, such as Bendy. And hearing Panchito knew and was friends with Donald Duck, made her curious.

“You know Donald Duck?” Y/n asks Panchito--who once again nods.

“Yes! We are very close friends, we have been friends for years! I also have another friend, that sly malandro he is! His name is José Carioca! A-”

“Perfect! This is perfect!” Bendy extended his arms and looked at the two.

“A much easier way to get to the toon, all we need is to leave for Oregon, Duckburg, and that’ll be 4 of us when we get Donald.” He says. Panchito tails quickly ruffled as he shuffled on his feet in excitement.

“I can’t just leave home and tell my mom, ‘hey, I’m leaving to a state that’s 10 hours away, to save the world.’ Plus, how will we get there?” She asks. Bendy chuckles, pointing a thumb to his bow tie.

“Leave it to Bendy, I got a plan that’ll let you go, plus. You have a car don’t you? How’d you get here? Or did you walk all the way in the rain?”

“I drove my dad's car, and no. We’re not using his car to drive.” She then looked over at Panchito, who still was a bit excited with the mention of his friend.

“And we can’t ride a plane. Not with him and knowing he’ll be on the lookout for, we need to be as inconspicuous as possible. We can’t risk getting caught in a way.” Y/n said.

“I hear ya’ loud and clear sweetheart, We’ll just take Henry’s car, he rarely uses it anyway, and usually hands it to me and Boris whenever we need places to go.” He said. Y/n nods with a small smile.

“Well we have that, I need to find a way to influence my mom to let me go..”

“Like I said. I got it, I gots the talks, looks and…” Bendy tried to think of another attribute before Panchito butted in.

“Style.” He said. Bendy smiled in gratitude at Panchito.

“Indeed, Thank you.”

“Ahahaha! Yeah! But you don’t have the brains!” A shrilly voice cackled. Y/n, Bendy, and Panchito looked at eachother, puzzled expressions etched on their faces. Soon, the voice spoke up yet again.

“Over here you idiots!” The three quickly looked over to the opened window that Bendy left open when the book collided into his face. Zip--the shadow was standing in the frame, holding the book above his head as if showcasing a trophy.

“Oh mamá..” Panchito muttered. Bendy quickly patted himself down and looked around to see if the book they had was still present, making sure that the book wasn’t actually taken. Once seeing it was indeed the book the shadow had in its hand, his tail dropped to the ground.

“Well, I think I can confess where I went wrong--”

“Hey! Give it back!” Y/n ran towards the window, once getting closed she outretcted her arms in an attempt to grab at the book, but the shadow quickly ducked down and zipped down the building, with the book in town, down straight to the first level.

“No!--”

“Who was that?!” Bendy looked at Panchito, to see if he had any answers, but the mexican rooster only shrugged frantically. “¡No lo sé!” Panchito said. Bendy quickly ran over to the door and opened it, revealing Henry standing at the doorway, but he was busy looking towards the side--talking someone pass by to notice, Y/n and Panchito in the room. Bendy’s tail stiffened, he quickly slammed the door with a loud.

‘SLAM!’

Henry flinched at the sudden door slamming, the wind from the door slamming slightly moved his hair. He gave the door a questioning look.

“Bendy? Are you okay in there? We all heard you shouting.”

Henry’s worried muffled voice emitted from the door. Bendy pushed Panchito into a nearby filing cabinet storage, slamming the door in his face and quickly locking it with the spare key that was in the room. Hiding the key in his glove before he turned over to Y/n who was quickly trying to find a place to hide, but there weren't many places to hide in a meeting room that only had a table and chairs. With the adrenaline rushing from the fact someone stole the book and getting caught to Henry Stein himself only made her overwhelmed. She peeked out the window once again, and noticed a black van. The shadow that took the book was standing next to two others, a man in a trench coat was opening the back of the van.

“Yeah! I am completely fine, you know, I’ve been losing my voice lately, so--I was doing voice exercise and whatever--” Bendy said, grinning at the door.

“I smell a lie, maybe he’s destroying stuff again.” Stated a new voice from behind the door, another worker from in the studio. Bendy seemed offended by the accusation--which was partially true, but still!

“Shut up, Sammy.” a female voice piped up. Ah, Alice Angel. From what it seemed, most of the main coworkers were in front of the door.

Y/n was still peering through the window. Watching. Soon, the man in the trenchcoat pulled out a toon from the van, a rabbit--gripping him by his ears. The rabbit flailed his feet in anger and irritation, distant shouts from the rabbit, clearly showed distress.

“Hey! Let me go! Hey--watch the ears!” Oswald shouts, flailing his feet. The man in the trench coat ignored Oswald, before looking over at Zip, Zip lifted up the book to Oswald’s heights due to the man having a grip on the rabbits ears.

“Open the book.” The man ordered. Oswald crossed his arms.

“No.”

“Open it. Now.”

“Do it, yourself.”

“We can’t, duh. That’s why we have you.” Zot said. Oswald only swung and his foot hit Zot square in his face. Sending the shadow toon back and hitting the ground, falling into a puddle. Luckily, the rain had subsided.

“I.Said.No!!!”

The man in the trench coat, slowly looked up, over towards the building. Locking eyes with Y/n.

“Get that girl.” He ordered. Zip looked up once again towards Y/n, who was still looking, not breaking down...or what they thought. Zip dropped the book on Zot, causing the shadow toon to groan yet again.

Zip soon zipped off yet again towards the building.

“Are you going to join the party with us?” Henry asks through the door. Standing beside him was, Sammy Lawrewnce, the well kept yet stubborn and easily aggravated music composer, head director in the studio, next to him was M/n, Alice Angel. Everyone’s favorite sweet angel, and Boris, Bendy’s loving best friend, standing next to Bendy, was Normon Polk the southern worker in the studio. Normon chuckled and nudged Sammy.

“He’s hidin’ somethin’.” Norman said. Sammy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I bet. Bendy, stop joking. Come on, we breaked our ass putting this party together, let’s go or I’m busting in.” He said.

On the other side of the door, Bendy only laughed through his teeth.

“Oh, Sammy you tease! You get me everytime, would you hide already?” Bendy turned to Y/n, muttering the last part to her, Y/n quickly turned around towards Bendy.

“There’s a person, with a coat--and-he-and--he had a toon, th-”

“Surprise!” Zip suddenly appeared in the frame of the window yet again, grabbing the hood of Y/n’s jacket, snatching her out of the room, the girl didn’t have enough time to react, as she was suddenly dragged out the window. Feeling the floor below her disappear. She could see Bendy quickly try to grab onto her foot, but by an inch he missed.

“Y/n!” He shouts.

“Y/n?” M/n said from the other side of the door. Bendy realized his error and quickly slammed the door closed, cursing under his breath before and rushed over to the door.

“I mean! I-Yes! Y/n, oh--I miss her so much, our meeting today was just so wonderful--you know, M/n, I miss her so much, I believe both me and Y/n should go on a trip--” He started, he took the key back out of his glove, frantically crawling over the meeting table, sliding papers out of the way and almost falling onto the floor, but, he made it back over to the filing cabinet, where he quickly pulled Panchito back out.

“A trip?” M/n said. Sammy nudged her.

“Don’t even buy into it.” Sammy said. Annie suddenly appeared once hearing the conversation about a trip. “I love trips, the young lady should get out of the house more.” Annie said. This actually made M/n think for a moment. Well..yes, Y/n was 18, able to do what she pleased.

Back on the other side of the door, Bendy turned Panchito around and grabbed the lasso that was hidden behind his feathers that he almost hadn’t noticed--luckily earlier he did. As doing so, he reached into the filing cabinet and took another set of rope---that oddly was in the cabinet, but he took it and lifted it to his horn, cutting off a small amount to make the lasso longer. He spoke as he did so; “Yes, I was thinking Oregon, you know. Tomorrow, me and her. I promise that nothing bad will happen, you know I myself needed a break too, and Y/n is such a great person! Though M/n I think maybe I should talk to you first about it.”

“You know, Y/n does need some time out away from home! I’ll tell her when I get home!” M/n smiled. Sammy scoffed. “What? Are you serious?”

“Who’s Y/n?” Alice muttered to Boris. Boris only shrugged in response.

“Well, we’ll be in the next room where the party is, join us whenever--come on guys.” Henry ushered everyone away from the door. Sammy scolded M/n, as Annie was defending why Y/n should leave the house. Once Bendy knew they were away, he quickly rushed over to the window window and flung it open. Panchito looked around frantically.

“Where is Y/n?”

“That thing took her.” Bendy said, he soon heard a shout, looking off across the parking lot--which was empty--it was an old parking lot, that was never used, and he could see the van that Y/n was talking about, Y/n was dangling in the air, the shadow toon held her by her hood.

Panchito noticed, and was the first to speak up.

“Hey! Put her down you scoundrel!” He shouts.

Oswald looked up and saw Zip had a hold of the girl he saw peeking from the window. The man in the trenchcoat growled.

“Zip! Take the girl away and get rid of her!” He shouts. Zip looked down at the man, Zot looked up at Zip, they were distracted. Oswald quickly swung his body, and flipped, his feet ramming right in the man's face, the man in the trench coat lost grip of the rabbit's ears. Causing Oswald to land on his feet perfectly. Zot quickie looked over at Oswald, his white eyes widening at the fact the rabbit got loose from his boss. Oswald quickly rammed into Zot, causing the shadow to fall to the ground back into the puddle. Oswald grabbed the book and with all his strength tossed it towards Zip, the book hit the flying shadow toon, causing him to drop Y/n, who yelped and felt her body freefall towards the concrete. Oswald quickly ran over towards where he suspected she would fall.

“I gotcha sweetheart!” Soon, Y/n landed in his arms. Oswald smiled at Y/n, who was shivering from almost thinking she was about to die.

“Thank you.” Y/n quickly said. Oswald smiled in return and nodded before placing her on the ground. The book started to fall towards the ground once again, in the building. Panchito grabbed the lasso and hopped onto the frame of the window.

“¡Sube, amigo!” Pancito said. He swung a loop of the lasso and tossed it out the window where it wrapped around a nearby lamppost.Tightening his grip, Bendy hopped on the window as well, grabbing to the rope as well, and without hesitation Panchito pushed off the building, sending the two swinging across the parking lot, growing closer to the book, Panchtio spoke to Bendy, shouting above the wind.

“The book! Grab the book!” He shouts. Bendy took notice of the book that was nearing the ground, and just with the nick of time, he grabbed the book.

“Get them!” The man in the trench coat shouts in anger.

“Y/n!” Panchito extends an arm for Y/n to grab onto. Y/n looked at Oswald and quickly took his arm.

“Grab on.” She told the rabbit. Once the two grew closer, Oswald jumped up and grabbed onto the rope near Bendy, and Y/n hopped up, Panchito grabbed onto Y/n, wrapping an arm around her waist, as Y/n tightly held onto the rope, the wind traveling and hitting the 4 of them, Y/n couldn’t help but smile, feeling the bits of rain hit her face and the wind made her feel as if she were on a coaster, the rope was so long, and they had so much momentum that they made it out of the parking lot, the many lights of the cars driving down the street of L.A. caused Y/n to watch in awe.

“Wow! You’re good at this!” Bendy shouts to Panchito over the wind. Panchito only smiles.

“Oh no, this is my first time! I lasso bulls and horses.”

“Wait what?”

Soon, the four were abruptly jerked back, the rope ran out and Panchito lost his grip on the rope, seeing he was the main support, everyone abruptly fell, luckily they were above a building that was across the street.

“Oof!” Y/n fell onto her side, her hip hitting the ground harshly. Bendy had fallen on top of a vent, the cage breaking and he soon fell into the vent.

“Aah!” The bumping and the echoing of his sudden scream trailed down the vent wherever he was heading.

“Bendy!” Y/n groaned, she quickly got up the stinging pain of her side itched in irritation. Panchito fell somewhere near her. But he quickly shot up, looking around for his sombrero, once he found it behind him, he dusted it off and placed it back on his head.

“Ahaha! Ay caramba! That was amazing, chica, mi amor, you might be better at adventuring than Donal’, not many people can perfect hopping onto an ongoing rope!”

Soon, a scream was heard and then a loud; THUD! CRASH!

The two quickly turned around and saw Oswald, who quickly stood up in a hurry to take buket off from his face. Angry slurs emitted from the bucket, but they were incoherent. Oswald finally took off the buck and almost immediately hurled it off the roof. Another crash was heard and then the sound of a car alarm going off.

“I have had enough! This can’t be!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. His ears flattening against his head.

“My luck! It’s gone! It’s gone! It’s gone! IT’S GONE!” He hurled a foot back and kicked another bucket away.

Y/n and Panchito stared at Oswald. Panchito looked at Y/n and with his index finger, twirled a finger around the side of his head.

“Loco.” He whispered to her. Y/n didn’t utter a word to the rabbit...maybe..there was a reason he was in that van. No, that’s crazy. Those...shadow toons, the man in the trench coat, they wanted to book, they had to be some sort of bad guy to them, but why did they want the rabbit?

Oswald had his clinched closed, suddenly, his hostile demeanor diminished rather quickly before he turned around and looked at the two with a smile.

“I’m sorry, I’ve-You see I’ve been held hostage for about...four. Five days now.” He said, walking over to the two and then standing in front of them.

“Why?” Y/n asked.

“Trench Coat, fella’ wants to use me as a key to open the book for him for..whatever plan he has, I was his key basically after he figured that I was--as he claimed--one of the chosen people for the book that will only open for select people.” He said. He...he was the 4th one.

“We...have the book because it opens for us.” Y/n said, pointing to herself and Panchito. Oswald's eyes widened.

“Wh-I’ve been searching for at least one person high and low for years and you two found each other how long ago?”

“Oh, we all met each other today! Ah, and we met you, the new addition,” Panchito said. Oswald seemed astonished. Panchito smiled.

“I know, crazy, I guess you don’t have much luck huh?” He blindly said...but it seemed to Y/n, Panchito purposely said it. Nudging him, Y/n spoke up.

“Yes, there’s actually 3 of us a---oh fu---Bendy fell in the building, I forgot!” Y/n looked at the two.

“He has the book, we have to get in there.”

“Oh-wait wait, My name is Oswald, I was thinking since we’ll be working together from now on I would introduce myself.” He said, reaching a hand out. Panchito was the first to grab onto the rabbits hand and shake quickly.

“Hello, friend! My name is Panchito.” Panchtio then looked over at Y/n.

“And my name is Y/n.”

“Very well, now. Let’s go.”

Pushing open the double doors opened, two black boots stepped into the room that was filled with the smell of cigarettes, booze, the sound of biker rock music echoing through the establishment of the bar, the dim golden lights brought a warm glow. The people in the bar paid no mind to the newcomer. The man in the trenchcoat walked passed the table of the two men arm wrestling the man on the left lost, his hand hitting the table, the bear glass cups fell to the floor and shattered due to the sudden impact, the man who won laughed and cheered in victory. The man in the trench coat clicked his tongue and shook his head.

Bendy hid behind a wooden pillar that the man walked by, gripping the book close to his chest.

“Hello sir, what can I get for ya.” The bartender said. The man in the trench coat sat down on a stool Placing his forearms on the table.

“Whisky on rocks.” He replied. The man nodded before turning away to make the drink. Bendy had peered from around the pillar, seeing the man was seemingly distracted. He turned around slowly and with all his might, tried to sneakily sneak through the front door. But the man with the trench coat quickly, with the speed of lightning, tossed something to his side without batting Bendy an eye.

THUNK!

The sound of a knife wedging into wood caused Bendy to immediately stop walking. Above him, between his horns, a pocket knife was embedded in the wood of the pillar. Bendy’s tail immediately dropped to the floor, before he turned around to face the man. A strained smile pulled onto his face.

Soon, the two doors burst open, Panchito rolled through the doors somersaulting, landing on his right knee as he supported himself with his left foot. He pulled out the two pistols from his holster and aimed them towards no one in particular.

“Alright, hands in the air, now!” He shouts. Bendy noticed a red bandanna wrapped around Panchito’s face. The people in the bar immediately stopped speaking and looked over towards the door towards Panchito. Bendy looked at Panchito as well. Oswald walked through the door as well, and soon, Y/n entered as well. Mostly hesitantly.

It was a part of the plan, creating a distraction. Soon, the man with the trenchcoat only squinted his eyes at the odd group. And soon, he snapped his fingers, and the two shadow toons jolted from a shadow of another person from the bar, creating two lanky and stout toon, Zip and Zot that the four saw several minutes ago.

Panchito finally got a good glimpse of the two components, and stood up straight.

“Ah, what short fellows! So cute.”

“Cute!?” Zip exclaims, he soon shot towards Oswald quickly and tackled him to the ground. Scratching at the rabbits face like a rabid dog.

“Ow! Oh my--why me! Ow! Get it off!!!” Oswald screams. Y/n cupped her face from anyone, as if not wanting to seem like she was associated with the three toons. Soon, Oswald yelps to Panchito.

“Get on with the plan already! Oh dear!!”

“Right! Hey you!” Panchito looked over at the two arm wrestlers. One man placed a hand on his chest as if saying; ‘Who me?’

“Yes, you. Your friend hates the way you compete with him, he said you smell like a bag of rotten onions.” Panchito said. The man gasped and looked at his arm wrestling component.

“Oh yeah?! Well how about this!” The man hurled a punch towards the man, the man fell to the ground, blood spraying from his nose, he lifted a hand up to feel the blood on his fingers, before looking at the man that hit him.

“...”

“AAAAAH!” Soon the bar started fighting, tossing glass, chairs, tables, and all. A bar fight! Immediately Oswald pushed Zip off of him, the rabbit got up quickly, Bendy rushed over, holding the book in his hands.

“What’s up with the guns?”

“Dramatic effect.” Panchito says.

“Let’s get out of here, guys.” Y/n said, turning around to open the door, but the door was immediately opened up, standing in the doorway, were three toons, the three wore the same shirt, cap and pants.

“Beagle Boys..” Oswald hissed as he held his eye closed that was scratched.

“Oh please. No need to worry about them, excuse us sirs, we will be on our way.” Panchito stood in front of the group protectively.

But, they didn’t listen to him. Instead they pushed Oswald and Panchito over slightly. Looking over at Bendy, who was holding the book. One of the beagle boys rose a buff arm, Y/n almost a; ‘cl clink’ as if they were cocking a gun, and with all their might, sent a punch to Bendy, hitting him in the face, and like in any other cartoon and the toon he was, sent him flying across the room, loud crashes and shouts echoed, Y/n yelped and turned around and saw Bendy’s feet hanging out of a wall that he broke through from the strong impact.

Steam emitted from the beagle toons fist, and all it took was one blow, to blow away the steam as if it were a gun.

“Bendy!” Y/n shouts. She watched him shakily and slowly remove himself from the wall, she saw stars and birds flying around his head as he stumbled back and forth, a dazed look on his face as he held a finger up as if he were about to speak, but he soon fell to the ground.

Panchito, Oswald and Y/n looked back at the beagle boys, Panchito’s narrowed his eyes and immediately got into a stance to fight.

“¡¿Pusiste tus manos sobre mi amigo?!” He shouts.

“Let’s get 'em all.” Said one beagle boy. But a new voice piped in.

“Leave the girl to me, boys.” a female sultry voice emits, the beagle boys stepped to the side to reveal...a duck toon. Short silky black hair, a black blouse and black pants. Her dark eyes pierced into Y/n’s e/c eyes.

“Eliminate them. We have what we need.” The man in the trench coat stood behind them all, holding the book.

“And don’t kill the rabbit, we still need him. Bring him to me when you all finish them off.” He said as he turned and walked off, waving a hand the emergency door opened before he left the building with the book! No one in the bar cared for the fact off the man in the coat, but much rather they were still fighting.

“No, the book!” Oswald tugged his ears in stress. Soon, the female duck walked closer to the group. Panchito moved his gaze to her.

“Magica..” Oswald said yet another name. Y/n was...who was that? Who were the beagle boys?! Were they working for that odd man in the trench coat?!

“Sorry, not hear to talk, have to do my job.”

Immediately, one of the beagle boys launched at Panchito, Panchito was quick to back away, grabbing onto broken wooden plank and swinging it, hitting the beagle’s face, Oswald did the same, instead he picked up a beer bottle hitting the beagle boy with the glass, which broke into shards from the compact.

Y/n had her focus on the Magica women.

“Alright, show me what you got.” Magica said. Y/n quickly found a stance, her gaze focusing on the duck. Magica threw a punch towards Y/n, with surprising good speed, Y/n moved away from the fist, in an attempt to throw a punch as well, Magica quickly raised a hand and Y/n’s hand froze in midair.

“Wha-” Y/n tried to throw another punch with the other arm, but Magica did the same with that arm, Y/n finally took notice, the duck was more than likely wielding some sort of powers...hinting towards her name..

Magica lifted a foot, and immediately kicked Y/n in her torso, the girl fell down, hitting the wood floor, falling on top of glass shards and other debris. Groaning at the impact, Y/n made a painful expression, feeling the sore on her torso, the wind knocked from her. Magica took a knife from the counter, she grabbed Y/n by the collar of her shirt, lifting her up with ease.

“You know, it’s nice to see one of the few heros, didn’t expect to kill you guys off so quick,” She said. Y/n reached behind her as Magica examined Y/n’s expression, Y/n felt the beer bottle on the counter. Grabbing the neck of the beer bottle, she felt the adrenaline pump through her, no, she was not going to let some random person hit and beat on her, they needed that book, the burning feeling of determination was firing up, and with quick speed, Y/n swung her arm, and smashed the glass bottle across Magica’s head, the duck gasped in surprise, along with a small yelp, she dropped Y/n, and Y/n quickly. Threw yet another punch, Magica fell to the ground, holding her beak with closed eyes and a pained yet furious expression, Y/n spotted Panchitio striking a punch to one of the beagle boys, Oswald did the same to the last two of them, Panchito whistled across the room to Oswald, tossing the rope to him, Oswald grabbed the end of the rope that was tossed, and the two ran, Panchito running around clockwise, as Oswald did the same, counter clockwise. The rose wrapping the beagle boys up.

“Ahah!” Panchito laughed as the beagle boys fell to the ground as the rope tightened. Y/n didn’t notice Magica get back up. The sudden feeling of someone on her caused Y/n to fall and roll across the ground, it was Oswald. Soon, a chair was seen falling in the position that Y/n was in, Magica must have thrown it.

Oswald got off Y/n with a smile and helped her up.

“Thanks I didn--watch out!” Y/n noticed the array of knives and forks flying towards the two, both Oswald and Y/n split and ran towards different directions. Y/n hopped over a table, landing on the dishes that were still there, the feeling of foot plastering on her clothes, she rolled off the table and onto the floor. The knives hit the table as if it were raining. She quickly scattered across the floor, pushing past people that were still fighting, like any other bar fight.

Y/n grabbed a ceramic plate and quickly tossed it as if it were a frisbee, but it didn’t hit Magica, instead she hopped from out of the way, Y/n ran past Panchito, who pulled out another rode from behind it--turns out he had to lassos.

“Y/n, here!” He calls out. Y/n ran back over, almost falling as she dodged a flying cup that Magica tossed. Y/n ran over and took the rope, and as Oswald and Panchito did, Y/n and Panchito did the same, circling the rope around Magica, the duck tried to keep track of the two speedy enemies--in her eyes--she couldn’t keep a good track. But--the rope wrapped around her, and Y/n tossed the other rope to Panchito, who took it and tied a knot to the rope.

“Let go of me!” Magica shouts.

“Hey! Watch out!” Oswald shouted from across the room, Y/n and Panchito looked over and saw Zip zipping passed, under Y/n’s feet, causing her to lose balance and fall on to the floor yet again. The shadow ran around the room quickly, speedily, so quickly that Y/n could feel the wind and cool air circulating in the room, Panchito tried to keep track of where the shadow went, but Zip was like a speedy mouse. Y/n quickly stood up, and spotted Zot, who had charged for Oswald, the rabbit was busy trying to track down Zip he didn’t know they fell for the trap, Zip was the distraction as--

“Hey! Let me go!” Zot took ahold of Oswald, holding onto his ears, Oswald lifted a foot to kick the shadow, but soon, from the wall, a dark bubbling rip of black ink like liquid, formed on the wall, and soon, Bendy shot from the ink, arms outstretched, he rammed right into Zot, the two somersaulting and rolling onto the ground until he hit a table. The table fell over, stopping Zip from running around the building, and slamming into the table. Bendy quickly got up, Oswald held the door open and shouted at the three.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” He shouts. And, Oswald, Y/n, Bendy, and Panchito ran out of the establishment, back out into the moist air, Y/n’s shoes slapping the wet pavement.

“There!” Y/n pointed at the van leaving the abandon parking lot, another figure that wasn’t the man in the trench coat, it was a woman with black hair, pale skin, she laughed and got into the driver's seat of the car, in her hand was the book, she tossed it in the van, and hopped in the car and with no need to even heeding the traffic laws she drove out of the parking lot and down the street.

“Where did the man go with the trenchcoat?” Oswald asked. Panchito rose an eyebrow.

“Was that him---or her?”

“I don’t think so, that doesn't matter, but we need to get to the car, come on!”

Y/n drove down the street quickly, but not enough to get pulled over, and that was where the problem was.

“You need to drive faster! We’ll lose the book if we stay at this speed!” Bendy shouts, moving Y/n over so he could stick a foot down to touch the pedal, but Y/n pushed him away quickly, glaring at him.

“No! If I get pulled over, that’ll put my name in jeopardy!”

“No, it won’t! Pick up the speed, or let me drive!”

“Fine! Drive then!”

Quickly, Y/n and Bendy, switched seats, as the car was in motion, crawling over each other frantically, but once Bendy was in the driver's seat, he slammed the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring, and Y/n immediately felt her back get glued to the seat. The car moved through lanes and cars, to get to the can that was a few meters away.

“Someone is going to have to jump out to get the book.” Panchito said. Oswald and Y/n looked at Panchito, he looked between the two before smiling. “I’ll happily do it!”

“I’ll go with.” Oswald said, Oswald then looked at Y/n, she scoffed.

“No. I’ll stay in the car and make sure he doesn't crash into anything.” Y/n said. Bendy was too busy nearing the van to listen, but once he reached the van, he rolled down the window and honked the horn causing the van to roll its windows down, revealing the woman that that saw, though they all couldn’t get a good glimpse of her, but the man in the trenchcoat saw the four, his eyes squinted.

“Hey, You should try and get better guards!” Bendy yelled to them. Panchito rolled down the window, and immediately crawled onto the roof of the car. Oswald followed suit.

“You’re too late, turn back before we kill you all!” The man shouts over, not noticing Panchito and Oswald, until when they hopped over and the heavy thump on the car caught their attention.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” The woman whispers. Y/n watched As Oswald slid down the front of the vans car, sticking his tongue out to get their attention. Which it did for the lad, she cursed loudly and tried to swerve the car slightly to get the toon off. But, Oswald didn’t budge. Panchito dove into the car landing in front of the woman, she shrieked in surprise.

“Ah! Hello, ma’am. Excuse me, i am here for something.” Panchito then moved his gaze over to the man in the trench coat, hurling a punch to the man, the man grunted in pain, and Panchito quickly took the book, he was about to exit until the woman took ahold of his talon, Panchito looked at her questionable, she dragged him back and Panchito yelped in surprise, but he kept ahold of the book. Before she could do anything to Panchito, Oswald hung from outside of the window peeking into the car.

“Boo!”

“Ah!” The woman screamed at the sudden toon appearing, Oswald grabbed Panchito’s arm, and dragged him out of the car, and grabbed him onto the hood of the car. Oswald bent down and clicked the latch for the hood of the van's hood, and almost immediately when the hood opened, it sent the two springing into the air. Unfortunately the can had crashed by a stop sign. And the car Bendy and Y/n sped up, Y/n quickly pressed a button to open the moonroof of the car, it slid open, and Oswald and Panchito landed into the car with a heavy thud with the book in hand.

“YES!” Y/n cheered as she hopped around in her seat. But, the sudden car crash behind them got the best of them, a car pile up was created, and a semi truck was rolling in from behind. Oswald noticed and quickly hopped to the front of the car, he placed his hands on the steering wheel, and jerked the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve and turn in 180 degrees, the tires screeching on the street, everyone in the car screamed, looking out the window of the car to see the semi truck rolling their way, but Oswald muttered under his breath, the car speed up, wheels screeching and it drove towards the truck, Y/n grabbed the wheel as well.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” She shouts, Oswald didn’t reply, instead, reaching a foot down next to Bendy’s and the car sped up, he turned the wheel yet again, the car screeching and turning down a street, and car knocked over a empty car that was parked on the side, that car served bump for the oncoming semi truck, what semi truck only slightly lifted off the ground when it rolled over the car and above the car the toons and Y/n were in, it were as if she were looking at it in slow motion, the semi truck tossed over the car, untouched, and landline on the side, away from other people and cars, where it wouldn’t cause damage to the town or people. The car zoomed off down the street before the end of the semi truck could hit the car, and in the nick of time, the car revved down the street.

“YES!” Oswald cheered, he lets go of the steering wheel, and then lets out a boisterous laugh.

“My luck! Ah! It put us in good hands this time!” He shouts with glee. The car slowed down, reaching a neighborhood, Y/n’s neighborhood. Her house a few blocks away. When the car came to a complete stop, everyone took a moment of silence to take in the air they would get to breathe, breathing in and out.

“Oh...my...gosh.” Y/n laughed and ran her sore hands through her hand, that was….fun. Exhilarating.

“We doggone, surely do make a team, huh?” Oswald smiled at the three, Bendy turned and looked at everyone.

“I didn’t expect the two of you to plunge yourselves into the air by the hood of a car!” He laughs, Panchito and Oswald smile.

“Did you see the way Panchito handled those beagle boys?! And how Y/n fought Magica?!” Oswald wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulders, Y/n smiled brightly.

“No, did you see Bendy come through the wall and stopped that fast running shadow thing?!”

“Or when we all, literally swung from one roof to another with Panchito’s lasso?!”

The four all shared a memorable laugh, the night was chaotic, and they still managed to kick butt and take back what was theirs?!

“Next up, Oregon.” Bendy said. He then looked at Y/n.

“Don’t worry, I influenced her...under pressure, yes. But hey, I did what I had to do.”

Y/n was astonished..her mother would let her go? This was new!

“This is a new beginning, wherever any of us go, we all go.” Oswald said, looking between everyone. Y/n took the book from Panchito, she opened it, and showed it to Oswald.

“We’re all a team, and we stick together.”

Oswald smiled at her.

“Through--” He placed a hand on the page, the ink printing his hand print and then signing his signature.

‘Oswald’

“And through.” He finishes.

“Let’s get you home, we all have a big day tomorrow, a long one at that.”

The man in the trench coat stood by the crashed car, the jammed hood pouring with steam, the lady next to him had her arms crossed as she looked at the car.

“What now..? They have the book.” She says. The man thought for a moment.

“We’ll work harder...they aren’t a bunch of idiots as I assumed. We work harder.” He said. The woman hummed in acknowledgment.

“And smarter?”

“Get the rest. We plan.”

“Fine.”

Y/n groaned as she sat on the floor in her room, cleaned herself off, through her clothes in the washer, and placed the book in a book bag for safe keepings. Oswald wandered around her room, looking at the various posters, books and other decorations, Panchito sat next to Y/n for once enjoying the silence and Bendy was rubbing his eye that he was so gracefully socked in.

“That guy did a number on you.” Y/n told Bendy. Bendy grumbled. Oswald looked over at Bendy and his ears perked up.

“Yeaj, they really did, straight through a wall, tell me. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain did you feel.”

“Oh shut up.”

Y/n heard the keys jingling of the front door, immediately, Y/n and Panchito stood up, Bendy opened the window up, as Oswald, and Panchito walked over.

“Well, I’ll take them with me, you get sleep, I’ll more than likely be here with Henry tomorrow to come and get you, so we all can leave.” Bendy explains. Y/n nods at the plan, but she was exhausted and needed rest from todays events, mostly what happened tonight...she was so glad no one was injured during the small pile up car crash.

“Bye, Y/n.”

“Goodbye”

Oswald and Bendy crawled out the window and hopped out, Panchito quickly scurried over to her, pulling her deep into a warm hug. Y/n couldn’t help but smile, and wrap her arms around him as well, rocking back and forth for a moment as Panchito pats and gently runs her back. Soon, then pulled away and Panchito smiled at her.

“Adiós, cariño, te veré cuando salga el sol.” He said, though Y/n could only understand when he said goodbye, she smiled and waved her hands goodbye.

“Bye, Panchito, I’ll see you tomorrow, I had fun with you all.” She said, Panchito smiles and walked backwards for a moment, he seemed to not want to leave yet, he made many friends...Donald and his friend Jose, and he missed them every day as the years pass, Panchito never like being away from his friends, and now Y/n was apart of that. Sitting in the window he waved goodbye once again. Y/n laughed softly and waved goodbye yet again.

Soon, he dropped down from the window, leaving nothing but the tree to look at and the moon that was clouded slightly by the clouds. Soon, her door opens revealing her mother, and her tired husband walking down the hall to his room to sleep.

“By the way, Bendy wants to take you on a road trip tomorrow, and you should go, you don’t have to, but I really want you to go, because I love you and I want you to go out more.” Her mother smiles after that quick statement, and Y/n already had her answer.

“Yes, I would love to go.” Her mother was surprised. But nevertheless, smiled.

“Good, make sure you bags are packed tomorrow, you’re going to Oregon, Bendy should be here tomorrow, but it's late, I’m tired. I’m hittin’ the hay, Night!” Her mother closed the door and Y/n heard her footsteps descend off to her room. Well...adventure truly awaits tomorrow, a new beginning. A reason, a step further in their quest to find out the meaning of whatever is going on. Y/n flicked her light off, and crawled into bed.

Next up, Duckberg, Oregon, to find Donald Duck himself. This will be an adventure indeed.

A/n : You made it to the end?! Don’t worry, there is more to come!

But, I do really hope people will like the plot of this story and the characters, I’m not a fan of crossovers, but this will be a fun and crazy adventure, everyone from each of these fandoms will have alot in common. But anyway! I’ll catch you all in the next chapter, go ahead and comment, I run off of comments, I love reading them and interacting with you all, but I hope you all join and stick around for this adventure, catch you in the next chapter!

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funkwhistle · 4 years ago

Text

Dutch Van der Linde x reader

Dutch Van Der Linde x pregnant reader

Pairing: Dutch Van der Linde x F!reader

Warnings: A bit of NSFW themes at start, fluff, and pregnancy

A/N: Thank you to anon for requesting this, I had one half written so sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting - might do some headcanons about this in the future. Little disclaimer - I’ve never been pregnant, so anything which is incorrect, just let me know and I can sort it. Otherwise, happy reading! :)

(Photo is mine - don't reupload without tagging me)

“What've you been eating dear?” Dutch asked, his fingers gently ghosting over your breasts as you lay there. When you didn't reply, he continued, “I mean, they're just… nicer I guess?” By this point you were half asleep, but you just shrugged, moving back into him. He hummed contentedly, kissing your shoulder gently as the pair of you fell asleep.

Dutch rolled off you, breathing heavily and kissing you lightly on the head as he lay beside you. Exhausted, you moved closer to him, so he could drape his arm over you and pull you closer to him under the blanket to try and retain some sort of heat between the pair of you.

When you awoke the next day, Dutch had left the tent already, he was chatting to Arthur outside about another job. Quietly, you got dressed as fast as you could, thinking about Dutch's comments last night. Maybe it was the spring weather making you feel like this. Emerging from the tent, Dutch glanced over at you, smiling a little before returning to the conversation as you walked over to Tilly and Mary-Beth who were sewing up one of the shirts.

“Ah, Dutch has some socks which need darning,” Tilly said, pushing the needle she'd been using into the fabric and passing over the socks. The heel had worn through, a simple fix, but it would take a little time, so you sat down beside them and got to work as the warm sunlight filtered through the trees.

After you'd sewn his socks, you stitched a rip in one of Hosea's neckerchiefs before standing up to take a break. However, as you stood up, you began to feel dizzy, and a previously unfelt sickness came flooding over you as the world swam a little. Grasping onto the wagon beside you, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the feeling to go away, before moving. the dizziness left, but the nausea was still there, gnawing at your insides like you'd forgotten something.

“You alright there?” Mary-Beth asked, glancing up at you. “Did you eat this morning?” Shaking your head, you realised she was correct; you hadn't eaten anything since last night, that would be why you felt like this. thanking Mary-Beth, you walked to Pearson's wagon, grabbing a dry bread roll and biting down on it. Instead of quelling your sickness as you'd expected, the bread only made things worse, making you feel like when you'd eaten some raw meat a few months ago. Swallowing forcefully, you shook off the feeling, although you didn't finish the bread.

The sickness didn't leave for the whole day, and as the night drew in you found yourself in the tent, sitting by the small stove he had in there and massaging your temples. Dutch came into the tent then, and upon seeing you rushed over to you, carefully placing a kiss on your forehead before rubbing circles on your knee as he looked at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and you merely nodded, your headache getting painful now; and him speaking wasn't helping. He sighed, coaxing you to sit up fully so he could wrap his arms around you, helping you to stand. You were too exhausted to speak, but you smiled gratefully as he turned you around, making an effort to unlace your corset with care, although the knot at the bottom got him a little confused. After your corset was off, he pulled your skirt off, and pulled you closer to him, now only in your undergarments.

Dutch placed deliberate kisses over your neck and shoulder, making you sigh into him as you stood there together, you nearly falling asleep in his arms. the last thing you could remember before you drifted off was Dutch laying you in the bed beside you and pulling the blanket over you both.

You didn't know how long you'd been asleep for, but that didn't matter now as you felt much more nauseous than yesterday. Pushing yourself away from Dutch as he slept, you wobbled to the edge of the tent before falling onto your knees as you retched on the grass outside. Someone must have heard, as you felt someone pulling your hair from out of your face.

“It'll be alright, no worries. Dutch!” The gruff voice belonged to Arthur, who was calling fruitlessly for Dutch as he hushed you, rubbing your back gently as you shook in the cold grass.

By now you'd stopped retching, pushing yourself up so you were sitting as you pulled a face at the taste in your mouth. The early morning air was cold, biting at your exposed skin now you sat on the floor, dew seeping into your clothes. Arthur offered you his water as he stuck his head into Dutch's tent to wake him. Drinking a little made you feel better, but you couldn't shake the idea you might be pregnant, you remembered from when Abigail was that she would always be sick in the mornings.

Dutch emerged from the tent with Arthur, and when he saw you sat in the grass he shuddered himself, wrapping his arms around you. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Dutch mouthing a thank you to Arthur as he walked away. Feeling less ill now, you buried your head into Dutch's chest, trying to keep your tears at bay as he rocked you soothingly, muttering something calming to you.

The sunrise was visible by the time you felt you could stand up. Dutch supported you as you walked back into the tent, pulling one of your slip-on dresses over your head before letting you sit on the bed to allow him to get dressed. And yet you couldn't shake the idea of your possible pregnancy from your mind, deciding to ask the only person who knew, Abigail.

Dutch was more doting than usual throughout the day, coming over to check on you every few hours and not allowing you to work at all. However, while he was busy talking to Hosea, you caught the eye of Abigail, who you quickly motioned to come over.

“You good?” she sat down opposite you at the table you'd been playing dominoes on earlier. Sighing, you decided you needed to ask someone, so glancing around to check nobody was over hearing, you leant in and whispered;

“I think I might be pregnant?” Surprisingly, Abigail didn't even flinch, instead a grin spread over her face, making you more confused.

“You've finally worked it out? You ain't eaten properly for days and you can see a little bump?” she laughed a little at your face of shock. “Come on, most of the girls have cottoned on now,” you shook your head, disbelievingly, but now she mentioned it; you didn't eat all your dinner the other day, and you noticed you had to loosen your corset. Abigail took your hands in her own, making you look back up at her and you could tell what she was going to say next.

“You gotta tell him,”

“How? He won't want it,” your eyes began to prick with tears as you realised the reality of your situation, that you'd have to raise a child without the father, Dutch could die on any day, with a bounty like that on his head. Sure, you wanted a child at some point, but not now, maybe when you'd settled a little; got a house of your own, with a yard for the kid and… As she was aware your panic had begun to set in, Abigail continued calmly;

“Well, when I had Jack I didn't know if he was John's, so I told Dutch first. When I tell you he was excited about the idea of there being a child in camp-” she stopped at your face, you'd been wondering if Jack was, in fact, Dutch's. As though she could read your mind, Abigail shook her head, continuing. “Don't worry, he is John's, I spoke to Dutch because I didn't know if I had to leave camp,” you smiled at this, maybe she was right about him after all.

After speaking to Abigail, you didn't leave the tent for the rest of the day, with Dutch bringing you a small bit of food in the evening.

“You feeling an-” Dutch started, passing you a bowl of stew which you took from him eagerly, but not eating any yet, you wanted to tell him first.

“Dutch, I need to tell you something,” you interrupted him as he sat down beside you. All of a sudden, all your previous courage had gone, replaced with doubt and worry about his reaction; if he banished you from the gang you had nowhere to go. Cocking his head, Dutch was looking at you expectantly, the stew on one of the crates behind him, long forgotten.

“I think I'm pregnant,”

Dutch didn't move at first, and you were worried he'd take it badly, he was twisting his rings as he processed your information.

“You're sure?” you nodded, mentioning you were going to go into town tomorrow to get the doctor to confirm it. Dutch still didn't say anything, although his hand found it's way to interlocking itself with yours. Slowly, he looked up at you, and you could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes as a smile began to spread over his face, making you smile also.

“You're going to make a wonderful mother Miss Van Der Linde,” he was still beaming, but he pulled you close so he could kiss you instead of you seeing him cry. “We can have a mini Van Der Linde running around camp now,” his reaction prompted tears of relief from you, and the pair of you sat together, you on his lap now, whispering about the good news. Dutch kept drawing patterns on your small bump, and placing kisses on whichever bit of skin he could.

#dutch van der linde #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x fem!reader #pregnancy #rdr2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption 2 #red dead #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #Pearson #sadie adler #bill williamson #anon #rdr2 pregnancy #fluff #hosea mathews

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rebellconquerer · 3 years ago

Note

hi, I don’t know if your inbox is still open for requests,if not that’s completely fine :). If so, I would like to request “Fuck, I need a drink to deal with you.” For Bucky x Sarah. Thank you.

It's a little long and a little different from my other bits of writing, less cute, more character study but I hope you still like it anon! Cross posted to AO3

She watches them get out of the truck, loud and boisterous in that way she's learnt means that they're ok. She knows they've been back stateside for several days already, spending extended time at the base in DC while Sam trains Torres and James continues his cross-country journey training special forces personnel. Hell, she had even video chatted with them but there is some part of her that does not settle, cannot settle, until she can touch them and see for herself that they are safe.

"You're a menace Buck, you know that right? Is it something about the 40s that made you and Steve like this or did the two of you find each other because everyone else saw how fucking crazy you were?" Sam asks, voice light with laughter.

Sarah watches the easy line of James' shoulders as he reaches into the back for his duffle, she can tell a lot about the headspace he's in based solely off of how he holds himself. She's had to learn his little tells because he still doesn't talk as much as she'd like.

"I trained with 12-year-old Dora's that were more impressive than this asshole and that was practically their after school program. It's not my fault he took exception to that comparison." James replies, glaring mockingly at Sam. She can tell they've been having whatever conversation this is for a while.

"You know if you keep breaking their soldiers the US military isn't going to continue inviting you back." Sam's smirk is playful though, clearly harassing James more for the sake of the harassment than out of any actual concern.

"Thank-fucking-Christ. See if I miss them." James grumbles, turning to face her with his duffle draped over his shoulders.

She is moving towards them before she consciously tells her feet to go. She isn't some damsel left behind though, so there will be no running and leaping into his arms, no matter how much she may want that. Instead, she strolls casually out her front door and down her porch steps with her arms tucked safely in her pockets, face excited, but in a cool and controlled way.

She watches as his smile broadens into a grin at the sight of her and her cool and controlled expression fails immediately as she grins back at him.

Sam makes a retching sound somewhere to the right of her but she isn't paying him any attention, thank you very much.

"Welcome back." She manages around her smile, technically to both of them but she's staring at James.

"Thank you, kind sister. You know it was a really rough couple of weeks, but it's the support of family that really holds us togeth- oh Christ, just kiss him already. It's not like watching the two of you make eyes at each other is any better." Sam ends in an exasperated mutter.

She chuckles lightly, her eyes darting around James' face, taking in the familiar blue of his eyes along with the healing bruises high on his left cheek. Her brother occasionally has good ideas.

He drops his bag on the dew-wet grass of the early morning and is reaching for her as she stretches up slightly to meet his soft, chapped lips.

"Sam, is it very hard being Captain America and having to stop white panther over there from doing stupid shit every ten minutes? As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Thank you for asking, sister of mine." Sam's voice grumbles as he moves away from them towards the front door.

His solo conversation forces a huff of laughter from her lips. It's become one of her favourite things, laughing into James' mouth. She pulls away from him, feeling sorted for the first time in weeks.

"Hi Sam! How are you? It's been so long since I last spoke to you 10 hours ago." She says brightly.

She watches the back of Sam's headshake ruefully as he keeps walking away from them and hears James pick back up his bag as he begins strolling lazily beside her.

"What's all this, then?" Sam asks as he gets to the porch, looking down at the three boxes piled outside.

"I'm not sure. It came last night. It's for you." She says with a small twist, turning to face James.

He raises his eyebrows in surprised confusion.

"For me? And it came here?" He questions.

Sam leans over, grabbing the still-sealed envelope off the top of the boxes.

"It came 'Care of Captain America' but yeah, it's for you." She says easily, hopping up the steps in one go and turning to lean her hip against the old wooden railing.

"Do you mind?" Sam asks James, already moving to open the envelope. James shakes his head, leaning on a post on the other side of the staircase.

Sam's eyes scan quickly back and forth over the letter before his mouth narrows into a small frown.

"It's from the Smithsonian." He finally says, handing the letter over to James.

"The Smithsonian?" James mumbles, taking the letter and she watches his expression freeze then go utterly blank as he reads it.

"Why is the Smithsonian writing to you?" She asks with concern.

Neither answer her for a moment just long enough that she starts to feel genuine concern.

"Dear Sergeant Barnes," James begins to read, pausing to clear his throat.

By the end of the sentence, James' voice has just the barest hints of a wobble.

"My name is Eloise Lambert and I have been the lead curator and researcher behind the Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit for nearly 40 years. I understand this must seem a drop in the hat to you, but it has represented my life's work. While I cannot begin to understand what it must be like to find out strangers have been heavily involved in the study of your life while you were still living it, please forgive me the eccentricities of an old woman to tell you that you were always my favourite.

During the initial stages of the creation of the exhibit in Washington and at its sister sites, several pieces of memorabilia were gifted to the institution by your family. In the intervening years, through research and the continued graciousness of your siblings, we have amassed quite an impressive list of items from your pre-war life. Additionally, in the often hard and lonely years that followed the blip, Captain Rogers also donated several items related to both your lives. It is my belief, however, that he gave us these items in good faith, believing you were permanently gone.

In the aftermath of the returns and the continued examination of the cultural damage that can be wrought by museums, especially with the years of discourse that followed the attack on The Museum of Great Britain, the Smithsonian has wrestled with what to do with the pieces that we have that are not fit for public showing. It is my honest belief that not only would your family and Captain Rogers want you to have these items, but that good morality compels us to return them to you. This endeavour has turned out to be harder than initially anticipated as though I am assured you returned after the blip, no one seems to know quite how to find you. With our continued efforts to locate you failing, and possible sightings of you with Captain America, we have decided to send these items to Captain Wilson in the hopes that they will eventually find their way to you.

Time is a cruel mistress, and as I approach the end of my life, the meaningfulness of old memories has become increasingly clear. I hope this has remained true for you as well, even through your painful but most extraordinary journey, however, should these items bring more pain than happy remembrance, please feel free to return them. The appropriate address is enclosed below."

He looks down at the unassuming boxes with the same carefully blank look on his face.

"Well… that's unexpected." He finally says, looking over at her with questioning eyes.

James drops to his knees, pulling one of the boxes to him at random and opening it gently. He lets out a soft breath as he pulls out the object on top.

Sarah strays closer, looking over his shoulder. It's a framed photograph of him in his military uniform, smiling easily at something behind the camera and in the right lower corner, held in place by some kind of cloth housing, is a small medal.

"Holy shit. Is that a Silver Star, Buck?" Sam asks, stooping down beside James whose thumb brushes reverently over the frame.

"Yeah," James says, voice cracking a little but a small smile curving his lips. "They gave it to me after Azzano, when I got back from Austria… the first time Zola…" he drifts off, glancing over at Sam.

The first time he had been captured. The first time he had been experimented on.

"I had sent it to my ma. They'd sent her a letter listing me as missing and presumed captured. Becca said she'd spent every spare minute she had in the pews at St. Leo's." He huffs out a small laugh, eyes going unfocused. "So I sent her the star and the picture in my next letter, as an apology."

Both Sarah and Sam are quiet, unsure what to say. A moment later James seems to shake the fog away and pushes the photo back into the box, standing abruptly.

"I'm gonna grab a shower, get cleaned up before the boys wake up." He mutters, old Brooklyn accent seeping in around the edges to soften his consonants, the way it always seems to when he gets lost in his past.

Sam stands slowly, making eye contact with her for a second before she steps up beside James.

"Are you ok?" She asks lowly.

He pushes the open box to the side of the door with his foot, then leans in and drops a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I'm good. Honest. I'll come back to it." He replies, shouldering his bag and stepping inside. She turns to look at Sam. He just shrugs and follows James into the house.

**********************************

The rest of the day continues like every one of her weekends since she began to be called mom more often than Sarah.

AJ wakes first and is downstairs pulling out dishes and mixing bowls for her because 'weekend mornings mean pancakes, mom!'

Then he's in the living room, TV on, watching whatever cartoon is his latest obsession. This month it's Clone Wars.

Sam comes down next, surprising AJ who hadn't noticed the truck in the driveway or the shoes by the entrance, so he's folded into the mandatory cartoons.

Cass is a late sleeper. Will sleep till the early afternoon if left to his own devices usually, but if Sam is AJs favourite adult, James is Cass's, so she's not all that surprised to see him at James' elbow when he does come downstairs in grey sweats and an old, soft-looking graphic T proclaiming Wakanda Forever. Bucky wanders into the kitchen, Cass right behind him and sets up to help with breakfast.

So the morning goes, with laughter and sticky spills and chocolate chips, until Sarah all but forgets about the boxes heavy with history sitting on her porch. It's not until much later, when the dishes are already washed and packed away, loads of laundry completed and her eyes tired from staring at income and expense spreadsheets from the restaurant, that she realises she hasn't seen hide nor hair of James and his shadow in some time.

Needing a break from excel, Sarah stretches languidly, feeling the bones in her back pop and realign before she stands, strolling through the house to find them. She hears the soft murmur of James' voice and the gentle cadence of Cass asking questions coming from the porch.

The door is propped open, only the screen door closed, so she can see them from the entryway and she has to stop to take it in for a moment. They are sitting on the floor, Cass in between James' outstretched legs with his back curved into James' chest, going through one of his boxes from the Smithsonian.

"And what about this?" Cass asks, pulling out a piece of ancient-looking folded paper.

"You tell me," James replies softly, unfolding the delicate age stained paper, hand over hand with Cass.

"Um, it's another letter. From Ruth?"

"My youngest sister,” James mumbles. “What does it say?"

"De-dearest James,” Cass begins to read. “I was so ple-ple-as-"

"Pleased," James corrects lightly.

"Pleased to read your most re-recent letter. We are so glad that you are away from the front for the next few weeks… what does that mean? Front of what?" Cass asks, turning to look up at James, whose eyes are sombre but kind, seemingly unable to look away from the old words.

"It means where the fighting was during the war."

Sarah stands watching the easy care James takes with her son and feels like she can't catch her breath. He's not doing it for her, she knows. He is sitting and sharing his life with her child, going over his reading with him, solely because he wants to. Because Cass wants to be near to him. She moves her hand to her chest, rubbing absently, trying to work out the heavy feeling that has settled over her heart.

"Why didn't she want you to fight? You're really good at it." Cass says with the carelessness of the young.

James hums consideringly, going through the rest of the letters in the batch in his hand. "I wasn't as good at it then, and she was worried about me."

She chooses that moment to join them. "What're ya'll up to out here?" She asks, coming to sit cross-legged on the other side of the boxes.

James looks up at her, eyes lighter than she expects, and smiles. "Just going through them, you know," he replies. She wants to ask if he is ok, if he needs time or space or any of the 20 other things she could probably come up with but thinks it might be better to just let him be.

She reaches into the box in front of her and comes out with another stack of papers. She gently pulls them apart then freezes. They're copies of his enlistment documents. The top right-hand corner of one has a faded, black and white photo of a man, barely more than a boy really, with familiar blue eyes but no hint of the darkness James carries.

"Bucky Barnes I presume." She says softly, holding the picture out to him.

Cass' little hands pull James' arm down to his level as he takes the photo so he can see too.

"That's not you!" Cass says, scrunching up his nose.

James makes a face and looks down at him askance.

"And why not?"

Cass shrugs. "You look so old now"

James absolutely cackles at that. Head thrown back, hand over his heart. Sarah tries to stifle her own laugh and look disapprovingly at Cass. Nothing beats the open honesty of the innocent.

"Real vicious, kid. I think I look ok for 106." He finally gets out.

Cass seems unimpressed, scrambling away from James to poke at another box as Sam’s head appears around the front door.

"What's going on out here? Grandpa is laughing?"

James just shrugs.

"Your nephew is speaking truth to power," Sarah replies with a smirk. James gives her a baleful glare while Sam takes in the scene around them, giving Sarah a significant look that she can't really read.

"Is this you too, Uncle Buck?" Cass asks, holding up a sketchbook.

Sarah looks over to see an impressive likeness of a young James in side profile, a small smile curving his lips as a thin cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth.

James nods, holding his hand out for the sketchbook as a grin overtakes his face. Sam comes to sit, dropping down heavily beside her as Sarah switches to laying on her stomach, head perched on her hands. James places the dog eared book on the floor between them.

Cass scrunches up his nose again. "Is that a cigarette? Those are bad!"

James nods, looking up as Cass comes to lean heavily against his shoulder. "You're right but gimme a break. It was 1938. We didn't know that yet."

Sarah reaches out and flips through the book. There are drawings of the view from a fire escape at different times of day with the vague outlines of people coming and going, a few of a young woman with old, old eyes and a lot of sketches of James. Sometimes just bits and pieces of him, how his eyes look happy or sad or tired. His hands holding a cigarette or a beer or fixing things. Some are whole body portraits, from James in a full suit to him in nothing but an undershirt and trousers, his suspenders hanging off his shoulders.

The last few pages have several drawings of a delicate-looking young man who’s almost pretty, soft hair and a pointed chin, but with eyes that blaze.

"Who's that?" She asks.

James gets a complicated look on his face, wrapping an arm around Cass's small frame.

"Portrait of the artist as a young man." He whispers.

"No shit," Sam says softly, reaching to twist the book more towards himself. Sarah is so shocked she doesn't even remember to yell at Sam about his language.

She stares down at the image. She's seen the hologram of Captain America before the serum in museums, like everyone else, but it's always the same image: him in some military clothes with an ill-fitted helmet on, before it slides into that famous shot of him, almost 6 and a half feet of righteous fury. She studies the picture some more. She thinks she can see it, see him, in the curve of his mouth and the intensity in his gaze. She supposes America doesn't want the world reminded of the small boy behind one of the greatest symbols of 'American Exceptionalism'. She doesn't really know much about the man that Steve Rogers was. She never particularly cared for what he represented. She wonders now if he even liked what he came to be seen as.

"And the woman? She's in here a lot too." Sam asks.

James smiles crookedly. "His ma. Her name was Sarah."

When Sarah's sharp eyes flick to him, he's already looking at her, smile widening minutely before he sighs.

"She died a month after my 18th. TB. Money got even tighter after that. Eventually moved with him into a tiny little apartment near Red Hook, let my Ma rent out my room at home. Anything for a buck, you know."

Cass gets bored with the conversation and wanders back inside, probably to harass his brother.

Sarah looks at her namesake, trying to wrap her mind around this whole other life that James has lived. She flips through the pages again. By far the most common subject is James, the lines of him traced with familiarity and clearly with love. Sarah flicks her eyes up to James who is watching her quietly.

“Ask” he commands.

She makes a face. “What? I don’t know what you-”

“Just ask, Sarah.” he interrupts, eyes playful. She looks back down at the drawings, unable to resist trailing her fingers lightly along the charcoal lines.

“Well… I mean there are a lot of drawings of you here… were you two ever-”

“No,” he says with a put upon smile.

“Hey! You told me to ask! I didn’t even get to finish my question!” she chuckles. James rolls his eyes heavenward.

“God, I need a drink to deal with you,” he mumbles. Sarah pouts and Sam also starts to laugh. “You think you’re the first person to ask if I was sleeping with Captain America? God, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me, I’d be a millionaire.”

Sam shrugs. “Man, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me if you were sleeping with Steve, I’d be a millionaire.”

Bucky laughs at that. It takes him a minute to settle down.

"Steve got real sick winter of '37. Didn't really shake it for the rest of the next year. Would get a couple of good weeks then his breathing was shit again. Spent most of the year in bed. Couldn’t manage to do too much but draw… didn't have too many models though. So it was what he could see from the window and well… me. I think the priest came to the house 3 or 4 times that year.” he trails off, eyes seeming to stare past the sketches.

“Priest?” she asks.

Bucky nods, leaning back against the house. “Steve's ma was real religious. Wouldn'ta let us live it down if Steve passed without last rights. It was touch and go a few times.”

They’re all silent for a bit after that, letting it sink in. She looks back down at the drawings, how much they seem like they are about to start moving, how well they seem to capture James’ essence.

“He loved you though, you can’t draw someone like that without a lot of love.” She whispers looking up to see Sam and James share a look.

“Steve loved… hard,” Sam replies. James nods.

“Could be real irritable about it, but yeah. His pa died when he was real little. Ma never remarried. Between Steve being so sickly and his ma being a single mother, things were rough. My parents owned a little deli. Wasn’t much but it meant we were doing a lot better for a lot longer than a lot of people until we weren’t.” James says with a shrug. Sarah barely breathes, she’s never heard him talk about his past so freely.

“We lived in the same building. My ma had a real bleeding heart. Came over from Italy as a teenager… I don’t think she ever forgot how people looked at her in the beginning when her accent was real strong.” he scoffs. “Never forgot being run out of her own country either. Didn’t much take to what other people thought. Helped out whenever she could, practically adopted them. There were times when things got bad, I was all he had.” James eventually finishes.

She supposes she can see it then, why Steve Rogers risked his life, risked his freedom, to get James back. Sam just nods slowly, like he’s heard it all before. Hell, he probably has. Sam pulls the last unopened box to him and starts carefully going through it as Sarah relaxes in the gentle breeze in the early afternoon.

“Damn. Didn’t think they’d give this back.” Sam says, pulling a dusty old leather case with a glass front out. He flips the case open slowly, turning it to face James who lets out a quiet release of breath.

Sarah frowns. It’s a medal of some kind, but she doesn’t recognize it. “What is that?”

Sam looks at her, his face very solemn. “It’s a medal of honour. Highest military award you get. A lot of times posthumously.”

James takes the medal, looking down at it with wonder. “I’d never seen it,” he says softly. “Steve said it was Peggy who made sure we both got them. Wanted the world to know that we died for something even if no one could be told exactly what. I don’t even know who it was presented to." James stares at the small medallion with an expression of adoration on his face.

A moment later there is a loud crash from inside the house followed by a suspicious silence. Sarah moves to stand but Sam waves her off, standing first to go investigate.

James leans back against the wall, just staring at the small medallion while Sarah watches him. He's occasionally so much more than she expects and yet still so very human.

"You are handling all this a lot better than I expected you to." She says, unable to keep the thought in.

James pauses. "Honestly, I don't think I ever expected to get any of these things back, and I certainly never expected to have anyone to share all this with." He replies, looking at her with such deep affection, she has to look away.

"Can I ask another question that may make you uncomfortable?"

"You literally asked me if I was fucking my best friend 10 minutes ago, I don't think anything is off the table." He replies with a small smirk and a head tilt. She huffs out a quiet laugh at that.

"How come more things from this century don't seem to… shock you? No 'for coloured only signs', gay marriage, interracial dating… “ she adds, pointing between the two of them. "Most people your age have pretty set opinions on a lot of those things. "

He frowns, tilting his head in that way that she knows means she has shocked him.

"Where's this coming from?"

She shrugs, reaching for one of the small piles of letters littering the floor between them. If she's honest it's a thought she's had before, but always assumed it had something to do with him not being fully unaware of the passage of time given the intermittent awakenings of the Soldier, or the fact that he'd basically been kept as property himself. She'd never felt entirely comfortable asking before, but this James, the one who reads his old letters to her son, seems so much more like an open book than ever before.

"Just… being reminded that you really were born in 1917 and the world of your youth looked very very different." Is what she chooses to say.

James seems to think for a minute and she appreciates that. Appreciates him trying to give her an answer that feels honest to him.

"A strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of it. Erskine said that to Steve before he gave him the serum. Steve was fond of that quote." He says quietly.

She frowns.

"Not to call you out James but this guy might have been a few pounds lighter than you but I don't know if anyone would call him weak." She replies holding up the enrollment form with his picture.

He shakes his head, digging into the box in front of him and pulling out another old frame with an ancient-looking sepia portrait, colour bleeding at edges. He hands it to her.

She looks down at it. It's a family. Woman, man, four children. Taken in that old-timey way that you only ever see in horror movies these days. James looks like he's maybe 16 or 17. It's truly stunning.

"This is them, isn't it? Your whole family." She asks. He nods, looking down at his hands.

"You know how I said, my ma came over from Italy?"

"Yeah"

"Well she did, but her first language wasn't Italian. It was Romani."

"Romani?" Sarah asks with a frown, she doesn't think she's heard of that before.

"They used to call them gypsies. Weren't real popular in the US. Neither in Europe. She'd spent a lot of her life afraid simply for being born what she was, but she was proud and tough and unwilling to be afraid anymore. She wasn't going to let any of us forget her roots. Wasn't going to allow any of us to turn into bullies."

Sarah stares at the faded photo focusing on the woman.

"What was her name?" She questions.

"Maria." He replies, voice soft.

She looks tiny next to the man in the photo, a dainty little thing with full lips set in a stubborn looking line and proud eyes. She can see the resemblance to James though, can trace the lines of his features in her face.

"She sounds like an amazing woman," Sarah says looking up, surprised to find James studying her with almost the same intensity that she was studying the photo.

"Yeah… I seem to know a lot of those." He replies, with a strange, crooked little smile.

She blushes at that, feeling heat spread along her face and down the line of her throat at the unexpected compliment. She holds his gaze though, lets the moment sit between them warm and heavy somewhere in her chest as the bird songs continue and the wind rustles through the trees. For a moment, sitting amongst the ancient memories that helped create this impossible man, time finally seems to pause in deference to them.

#longpost #fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x sarah #sam wilson #backstory?#my own headcannons have run away with me #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #captain america #mentiones of steve rogers #I don't even know man #fleur de louve #rebellwrites

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greaterawarness · 4 years ago

Text

501st and 212th Workout

(I wanted to write a story with the clones with more realistic military things. So here's what a PT day looks like in the military.)

It was 0400 by the time Rex made it out to the grinder. It was a brisk morning with dew settled on every surface making goosebumps appear across Rex’s exposed arms and legs. Today was PT for the 501st and the 212th. They usually worked out in the mornings together at minimum three times a week when not on deployment. Rex stands towards the front of the grinder in his PT uniform which entailed a white shirt where Ahsoka had drawn his jaig eyes on his back and blue shorts. He began to rub his arms wishing he had worn the long-sleeved shirt and workout pants.

“Morning!” Cody calls walking onto the grinder in his white shirt and yellow shorts per the 212th PT uniform.

“Fucking cold!” Rex yells back. Cody was one of those anomalies who loved early workouts. Didn’t matter the weather or what type of workout he was always gearing to go. The man hasn’t even had any caf yet, but he wears a big eager smile on his face when he approaches Rex. They’re the first ones out there which is no surprise to either of them. Rex results to hopping up and down to generate some warmth by the time the men start showing up. Kix being the reasonable and smart man he is wears his long-sleeved shirt and long pants while Jesse winces the second he steps outside the way Rex did. Hardcase always wears the long-sleeved shirt and the shorts no matter the weather. They approach Rex and Cody looking more eager to go back to bed then to stand in the grinder waiting to start a workout.

“Morning.” Kix says softly. Jesse says nothing with his shoulders hunched and teeth chattering.

“Morning.” Rex and Cody say chuckling at Hardcase who can barely keep his eyes open. After those three arrive the rest of the men begin pouring out onto the grinder. When Fives and Echo approach Rex, Fives has his hands up rubbing his nipples through his shirt.

“First round at 79’s is on me if the first words out of that boy’s mouth aren’t ridiculously stupid.” Cody mutters to Rex.

“Fuck Cody I don’t want to play this game.” Rex mumbles back already knowing Cody will win. Echo opens his mouth to speak but Fives beats him to it.

“My nipples are hard boys.” Fives says still rubbing them and looking around to see if anyone else was doing the same. Rex lets out a long and disappointing sigh through his nose with a small shake of his head. Cody turns facing behind Rex with his hand rubbing his chin in an attempt to hide his laughing. Echo closes his eyes to possibly stop himself from smacking Fives.

“Good morning Captain.” Echo says opening his eyes again.

“Morning Echo.” Rex sighs before Echo elbows Fives in the ribs.

“Fuck Kix switch shirts with me!” Jesse finally pleads before they start forming up with the other men.

“I’m not rewarding you for being unprepared.” Kix says as they take their spots. The 501st form up on the right while the 212th form up on the left.

“Okay first, it is cold and even mynipples are hard, so I don’t know if that really constitutes as something ridiculously stupid!” Rex hisses to Cody when his men are out of ear shot. Cody just throws his head back laughing. Ahsoka slowly emerges from the crowds of men with a deep frown on her face.

“I’m offended by how cold it is this morning.” She mumbles standing beside them. Rex grins crossing his arms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cold? Commander Cody is it cold to you?” Rex asks. Cody tilts his head as if thinking.

“No, not familiar with that word.” He says. They both grin while Ahsoka rolls her eyes.

“Its to early for you two.” She groans rubbing her face.

“I’m cold!” Jesse calls from the ranks. Rex shakes his head as they wait for the last few stragglers to form up. Boil walks up from the 212th with a datapad.

“Here’s the roster.” He says with a yawn. Cody takes it and scrolls through the names. Appo finally makes it to the front with the datapad for Rex.

“Cutting it late there you think?” Rex says taking the datapad from him.

“Had to make sure the new guys had PT gear.” Appo shrugs. Rex frowns while scrolling through the roster. That’s right. Clone Force Zero. Rex watches as they walk around the rows of men to stand in front. They all wear 501st PT gear looking uncomfortable. X stands bored. Side-eye can’t stop yawning. Stitch and Flex can’t stop looking around the grinder while rubbing their arms from the cold. Ghost looks like he had just walked out naked and pushes himself against Side-eye with arms hugged tightly to his sides.

“How was your first night?” Rex asks trying to pull a smile on his face. X gives a shrug.

“It was like sleeping on a bunk bed in a warehouse full of snoring men.” X says crossing his arms. Rex keeps the forced smile on.

“Oh good.” He says through gritted teeth. “You can just fall in with the 501st.”

When they’re walking towards the back Rex lets out a sigh and shakes his head.

“Was that the clones Master told me about?” Ahsoka asks staring after them.

“Yeah, odd bunch that one.” Rex says trying to focus on the roster. Appo turns and waves into the crowd for someone to come up front. Rex watches two clones slowly walk forward.

“Captain, these are the two new members that got in last night.” Appo says with the two clones standing at full attention. Some men in the ranks laugh at their stiffness.

“At ease men,” Rex chuckles. They loosen up but in a stiff way. “What’s your names?”

“CT-5385 Sir!” The clone with a bun says snapping back to attention. Rex holds up a hand to try and calm the seriousness from these two.

“No, not the CT numbers,” Rex says hearing Cody chuckle beside him. “I’m Captain Rex, this is Commander Cody. And your names are…?”

“Ah I’m—I’m called Tup Sir.” The one with the bun says. The other one who Rex stopped before spouting CT numbers has a V tattooed across his left eye.

“I’m Dogma Sir.” Dogma says. Rex gives them a smile.

“Welcome to the 501st,” Rex says. “Fall back in so we can start the warmup.”

Appo leads them back into the ranks of 501st. Rex signals Fives to fall out. He hands him the datapad.

“You get to take muster.” Rex says. Cody hands the datapad back to Boil before they both stand in front of their men.

“Atten-tion!” Rex calls making both the 501st and 212th pop to attention. He steps back letting Boil and Fives walk forward.

“501ST attention to muster. When you hear your name sound off!” Fives starts. Boil does the same for the 212th. While they give muster, Rex has to fight the urge to spill everything about Clone Force Zero but not wanting to disclose anything to Commander Tano to soon. He peaks down at Ahsoka who rolls her shoulders slowly waking herself up.

“I don’t know how you talk me into these things Ani…” a voice sighs to the side. Rex smiles at Senator Amidala and General Skywalker walking across the grinder. It wasn’t odd for the Senator to join their morning workouts.

“Good morning Senator. Working out with us today?” Rex greets her. She gives him a warm smile and then an eye roll at General Skywalker.

“Yes, I was talked into it somehow.” She says eyeing the General. The General just grins with his hands on his hips more energetic in the morning then normal.

“It’s good for you,” The General starts. “Besides, the boys always seem more motivated when you’re around.”

He gestures out at the men who have perked up since seeing the Senator. Rex and Cody exchange a look before General Kenobi walks through the ranks.

“Blast this morning chill,” He says standing next to Cody. Both General’s wear the same PT gear as the clones except with a brown shirt instead of white. Ahsoka does the same except Rex and Fives tried drawing her face markings on her back. It doesn’t really look like them, but they tried. Many of the men have decided to make even their workout uniform unique. Hardcase scribbled GET THESE GAINS on the back of his. Kix had #MEDIC. Jesse proudly wears I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE on the back of his. Jesse’s wasn’t Rex’s favorite. Fives has IF FOUND RETURN TO ECHO while Echo has, I’M ECHO on the back of his. Echo still insists to have a blue handprint stamped over the right side of his chest. Rex got a kick out of all the messages his men wrote on their shirts. It started somewhat of a trend with the other clones. He’s been noticing more and more clones have been writing or even drawing things on their workout uniforms. “Well don’t delay on my behalf. Let’s get this over with.”

When muster is over, they start the warmup. It’s a series of basic exercises with ten four counts. The 501stand 212th try and outdo the other by who can count the loudest. Rex always felt sorry for the nobles living near the Jedi Temple. They probably never imagined they’d be woken up at 0500 to a clone army warming up. when the warmups done, they decide to do a Temple run.

“Alright, fast runners will be in group A with General Kenobi while slow runners will be in group B with General Skywalker.” Cody explains with the men breaking up into two groups. Ahsoka starts towards group B.

“Uh-uh come on kid.” Rex says leading her back to group A. she lets out a groan but doesn’t argue further. Cody stretches at the front of group A with General Kenobi. Normally General Kenobi would lead group B but with the Senator here General Skywalker volunteered to lead the slow group. All of Clone Force Zero stands in group A with mixed emotions of boredom or eagerness to get started. X turns his head meeting Rex’s eyes as if he could sense him staring. Rex looks away feeling a chill run up his spine. His thoughts are interrupted with Fives shouting towards the back of group A. Rex walks towards the back raising an eyebrow.

“Curse you and your slow running speeds!” He yells back to group B where Echo holds a hand up shielding his face as if it could hide him from Fives dramatics.

“Fuck sakes Fives its just a run.” Kix says in group A. Jesse leans on Kix’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Hardcase is a slow runner too but you don’t see us crying over it.” Jesse laughs giving a little wave to Hardcase in group B. Hardcase shoots Jesse the bird.

“Well since you’ve abandoned me, I’ll have to find a new running partner,” Fives says before grabbing the first clone he sees. He wraps his arm around Tup’s shoulders. “I’ll just run with… what’s your name again?”

“Tup.” Tup says uneasily.

“Tup!” Fives yells. Echo rolls his eyes while Jesse and Kix laugh. Rex walks back to the front where General Kenobi and Cody raise an eyebrow at him. He just shakes his head and waves them away in a you don’t want to know manner. With everyone in their groups they begin.

Group A always takes the lead in a steady pace with group B not far behind. Clones weren’t slow but some definitely were better runners then others. Rex had always struggled with running in the past. He never had that natural speed that others like Ahsoka or Cody had. He had to work for it and he still has to maintain a decent running schedule to keep his pace. Once they hit the one mile mark the groups begin to fizzle into everyone’s own speed. Group A and group B have now turned into a long line of runners around the Temple. Rex was impressed to see Tup near the front with General Kenobi, Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex. Fives struggled to keep the pace with his new running partner.

“Why don’t you fall back to Echo? He probably misses his running buddy?” Rex calls to Fives.

“Yeah… Echo… probably… does miss me!” Fives pants before slowing his speed. Rex gives Tup a grin before slowing his own speed. Cody gives him a look before slowing his own speed so they could run beside each other. With everyone a mile and a half in they were focused on their breathing and running speed.

“What’s going on?” Cody asks calmly. Rex peaks back at X and his men. They aren’t far behind them, but they also look like they haven’t even broken a sweat. They aren’t even trying. They could probably blow right past Rex and the other leading runners. Rex tells Cody everything he heard from X’s little meeting. Cody doesn’t answer at first as they take a turn.

“I mean… who gave them their orders? It wasn’t the Jedi that’s for sure.” Rex says with a small shake of his head.

“I keep thinking back to the first time we saw them fight. I’ve never seen any clone fight that way and I’m guilty of going hand to hand with droids all the time.” Cody says. Cody glances at Rex. “You don’t think they could be with the Seppies do you?”

“I’m not sure… If they are then how did the Seppies get ahold of five clones? Did they desert and make a deal with them like Slick?” Rex thought out loud. When they hit the two-mile mark, he was having a harder time thinking. Cody looked unfazed with only the sweat dripping down his forehead as sign of struggle.

“And another question is where did they get those weapons? I know they aren’t from Kamino.” Cody nods. “I have a bad feeling about this Rex ol’ boy.”

“Me too. But we can’t just start making accusations without proof. We’ll have to keep an eye on them until we have something we can bring to the Jedi.” Rex says. Cody opens his mouth to say something when someone runs past them so fast it nearly caused Rex to trip. X and Side-eye run ahead passing General Kenobi and Ahsoka. Rex frowns feeling his speed pick up.

“Hey!” Ahsoka yells before chasing after them. Rex and Cody reach General Kenobi who frowns after X. Ahsoka catches up to him. He smiles and says something they can’t hear. Ahsoka says something back before laughing and running beside them the rest of the way. Something stirred in Rex that made his blood hot. Rex can’t keep his eyes off X and Ahsoka. He didn’t think X would actually try and hurt her out in the open with two clone battalions running behind him. And even if he did Ahsoka was more than capable of handling herself but he still felt protective over her. She was just a kid after all.

When they finally reach five miles they come to a panting stop in the grinder. There was a small victory in seeing X and his men panting as much as Rex. When General Skywalker and Senator Amidala reach the grinder, she bends over to put her hands on her knees panting. Running at her speed was no challenge for the General who looked less worn compared to everyone else. Hardcase rolls on his back when he reaches the grinder and pants loudly while complaining.

“He lives!” Kix calls before walking over to Hardcase. Jesse places a foot on Hardcase’s stomach who makes a gaging noise.

“He pukes, you two clean it up!” Rex says snaping his fingers at them. Echo and Fives roll in with Echo placing his hands on his knees while Fives walks around with his hands over his head. They watch as all their men reach the grinder and slowly crawl back into formation. Not wanting to waste any time Rex and Cody stand in front of their men leading them in stretches. When the cooldown is down, they let their men go.

“501ST, we have duty tomorrow! Stand by for the watch bill!” Rex calls out before being answered with groans and moans. He looks over at Ahsoka and X still talking and sharing laughs. General Skywalker walks up to them when Rex does.

“Nah, I beat you!” Ahsoka says putting her hands on her hips.

“You must have used the Force or something because I was in the lead.” X says placing a hand on his chest.

“Master, tell X I’m faster then him!” Ahsoka says looking to the General.

“No way. I’m staying out of this.” He says with a chuckle and putting a hand on his hips.

“Fine, you won. But I want a rematch Commander.” X says crossing his arms.

“Oh, you’re on.” She says with a grin before walking back towards the temple.

“Settling in nicely I see.” The General says to X. X pulls a smile on and nods at the General.

“Everyone’s been very hospitable.” He says eyeing Rex who shifts his weight beside the General.

“Glad to hear,” The General says before looking back at the Senator as she approaches them. “If you’ll excuse me boys, I have to make sure the Senator makes it home safe.”

“I’m more then capable of doing that on my own.” The Senator raises an eyebrow at him with a smile.

“I know but it’s my duty as a Jedi ensure your safety!” The General says as they start walking away. When the General is out of ear shot X’s smile fades.

“Well,” X starts when Rex faces him. “This was a nice little jog. Me and the boys are going to shower. See you around Rex ol’ boy.”

The hair on the back of Rex’s neck stands on end. He watches X walk back towards the temple with his men. Cody and General Kenobi walk over to stand next to Rex.

“I don’t like that bunch.” Rex says narrowing his eyes at him.

“Patience Captain,” General Kenobi sighs. “They will reveal their true intentions in time.”

With nothing else to do Rex makes his way towards the Temple with Cody and the General. They change the subject to past tactics, but Rex couldn’t keep X out of his head. There was something off about him and it wasn’t just his armor or his weapons. It’s how he carries himself. How he acts. Everything about him was so familiar but Rex couldn’t pinpoint from where. Rex shakes his head. Maybe he was just paranoid. He decided he wouldn’t think about them for now. Now he has to prepare a watch bill for tomorrow and keep the 501st out of trouble while they awaited their next deployment. That alone was hard enough.

Click HERE to read full story on AO3.

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

One Way Streets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, to the big city it was.

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

It wasn't.

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

And ended up spit out by the State building.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another college kid.

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

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

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

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

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

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

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

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

Fresh had never looked so good.

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

He’s starting to gain traction.

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

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

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

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

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

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

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

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

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

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

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

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

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

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

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

"Hey."

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

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

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

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

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

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

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

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

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

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh…"

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

Mary just nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

Mandi patted him on the back.

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

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

It was heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

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

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

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

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

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

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

Mary suddenly panicked.

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

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

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

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

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

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who does that look like to you?"

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

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stripped Bare

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

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

Oops.

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

Homeless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mandi sat down next to him.

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

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

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

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

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

She laughed again.

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

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

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

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

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

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

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

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

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

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

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

"W-what…? I…"

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

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

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

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

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

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

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

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

Anything.

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

"That’s the spirit!"

***

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

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

Mary had nodded.

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

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

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

"Got it, sir."

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

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

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

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

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

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

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

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

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

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

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

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

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

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

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

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

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

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex had groaned.

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

Mary shrugged.

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

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

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

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

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

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

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

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

"I’d kill for your tits."

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

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

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

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

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

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

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

"Hey," he says without looking up.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

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

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

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

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

He rubs the back of his neck.

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

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

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

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

I wrap an arm around his chest.

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

"Thanks."

"No problem."

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

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

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

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

"Hey, man! I love your style."

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

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So like a street fashion spread?"

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

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

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

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

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

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

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

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

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

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

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

Angelique snorted.

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

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

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

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

"Yeah."

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

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

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

Cool.

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

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

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

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

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

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

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

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

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

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

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

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

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

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

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

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

But he was kind of hoping they would.

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

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

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

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

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

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

He was.

***

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

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

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

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

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

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

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

"Put these on."

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

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

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

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

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

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

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

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

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

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

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

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

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

"You know I'm game for anything."

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

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

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

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

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

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

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

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

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

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

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

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

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

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

"Shit, that must be nice."

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

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

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

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

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

But recognition started slow.

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

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

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

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

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

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

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

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

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

She'd compared him all night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You missed game night."

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

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

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

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

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

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

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

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

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

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

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

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

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

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll hold your hair back."

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

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

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

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

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

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

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

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

They all did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck you, Angela."

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

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

"All right, all right!"

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

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

Eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then things turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@slimylayne

Epilogue

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

He shoots me a smirk.

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

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

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

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

"Goore, you temptress."

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

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

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

Mary snorts.

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

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

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

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

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

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

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

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

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

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

He shrugs again.

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

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

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

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

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

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

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

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

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

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

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

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

He tosses my phone onto the table.

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

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

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

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

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

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

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kiiirtiiiniii · 3 years ago

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Cliffton was eerily quiet just before sunrise.

It was like the city held its breath, waiting for the morning sun's first rays to release it and ease into the day. The scurrying of midnight runners' feet had stopped and the early morning labourers were still barely stirring. The only soul Ace spotted was a tiny street urchin stealing eggs from a farmer's coop. She pretended not to see him and he gave her the same courtesy. His arched feet were muffled on the dirt road as he passed the child, but hers were healthy and even quieter.

The first crossroads was the one he'd been worried about, but it seemed he was early enough and no one was near. His toes sunk into the dew-sprinkled grass on the side of the road and he hummed at the pleasant chill. The road north to San Virio was overgrown from disuse; everything that could be loaded into a boat was shipped by river and the Puerta silver merchants could afford the expensive upriver vessels to get back. Only poor folk or wanted criminals travelled on foot. The other road - south to Twiewistshire - was crumbled and muddy from too many feet, hooves and wheels. It was faster and significantly cheaper to cart farmed and homemade goods directly north to Cliffton than it was to hire a boat that could make it upriver around the huge curve through Mohzyal Wyt and Pontem, and then one had to decide if they'd abandon their cart, animals and guards to take the first barge downriver or just trundle home by road. Most went back the way they came. Many hired an extra guard or two. If Cliffton was rough, Twie was a nightmare for the honest merchant.

Luckily, Ace was anything but honest. This area was where he thrived. After a brief rest, he turned his stride toward Twiewistshire and into the Blue Jungle, making the executive decision to walk on the nice, cool grass instead of the torn-up road.

The second crossroads was more like a barely-visible jungle path off the road than a crossroads. The sun was starting to rise, but Ace still would've missed it if he wasn't anxious and hyper-aware of shadows in the trees. There it was, though, a scrap of blue cloth tied to a high branch just like the runner had told him last night, and a faint trail in the brush below it. The moment he stepped one foot on the path, a pair of reflective, elfen-blue eyes flashed in the thick foliage ahead of him and disappeared just as quickly. Leaves quietly rasped against one another in the stranger's wake, but Ace didn't bother to hide or follow them. He knew there'd be a runner to announce his arrival. That was the way the Salamander operated; she had eyes everywhere.

By the time he reached the end of the path, the leaves around him were steaming in the hot morning sun and he'd nearly lost his way three separate times. He broke into a clearing full of jungle flowers and fancy stonework. A fenced, perfectly-laid granite path led around the edge of the clearing to a grand gate. In the center was a huge cabin made of treated manawood and shimmering mythril stone bricks. Each window revealed furniture made of ebony, gold, silver, jewels, and every other expensive material he could identify. Around the last bend, a lone, slender half-elf sat in the shadowed mouth of one of two huge marble lions at the entrance, eyeing Ace with an amused smirk.

Ace chuckled lowly. "Guess ya can't bite the hand what feeds ya. Really is a pity." He looked around at the riches for show. "All this, jus'... layin' around. Real shame."

"Did you ssee thhe road to Ssan Firio?" The man's smirk spread wider, his narrow teeth predatory. "Quite desserted, I would ssay. Becomess rathher precariouss furthher on. Good ffor trafelling if one likess to go... unnotissed."

"I jus' got here, an' yer tryna bring me in on a heist against the woman I'm askin' fer work? You think I'm stupid?" Ace almost laughed. This guy had to be on something.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I am only making conferssation."

"Hmm." Ace dropped his voice low. "I ain't got a deathwish. Talk t' me when I'm not the new kid."

The half-elf grinned and hopped down, landing gracefully a few scant inches away. He was a couple inches taller, forcing Ace to look up. This was definitely the runner in the brush from earlier; his eyes were a dazzling, mana-tinted blue. The braid draped in front of his shoulder was a rich brown that shone red in direct sunlight. His skin (or what Ace could see of it beneath his plain black and white clothes) was the medium, mossy hue of an ashen nighteye, but he was absolutely covered in the kind of dark freckles common in northeastern seacliff folk.

His rhylin half was clearly mixed. This was a bonafide mutt, but he was still obviously a product of lucky genes on all sides. In other words, he was easy on the eyes; a thought Ace shied from as soon as it came to him because the guy also looked very, very young. Almost a child.

The half-elf spoke low, now. "I like you, sso I will gif you a warning. I am not sso important, but do not be thhiss open withh Newt." He glanced behind him. "Shhe actss warm and ffriendly, but shhe iss a manipulator if I hhaf ever sseen one. Shhe likess ffolkss whho do not ffall into hher banter, thhosse whho sstick to thhe point."

Ace groaned internally. "Sounds lovely. Thanks, freckles."

"Do not menshhion it." The half-elf paused. "Efer. In ffact, fforget you efer met me, thhat would be best."

Ace trailed his eyes down the man's body and back up to his face, making a show of observing him.

Freckles looked baffled. "Whhat... are you doing?"

"How'm I s'posed to know what t' forget if I don't see it? Ah?" Ace grinned.

"Hssh, Rhhy, ssafe me ffrom thhis hhalff-orc. Go." The man huffed and moved aside, waving Ace through the entrance.

As he walked away, a faint snicker came from behind him and he shook his head fondly. He hoped he'd run into that one again.

Next Chapter

#hi I'm so mentally ill right now please look at my writing I'll be here laying on the floor #writing #fantasy #elf #orc #ace wintergaze #arrow wintergaze #anyway I'll probably do more of these if i don't pass away from retroactive cringe tomorrow #rhythen writing

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silverandarsenic-hcs · 4 years ago

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Hey, if requests are still open, how do you think the ghouls (and papas if you're in the mood!) would react/behave around a s/o who has to work from home (because of huge social anxiety and burn out), thank you x)

Hello there! This was written way back then by @oriharaobito ! The actual ask got eaten but we had it copy and pasted above! Enjoy! - Rosie

Dewdrop: Probably the most active of all the ghouls, he’ll probably come annoy you while you’re trying to work often. He doesn’t understand that you have work to do and will think “being home = available to do whatever”. You’re gonna have to distract him with like… colouring pages, or a video game, or tell him he needs to go hang out with friends. He’ll protest and say he wants to spend time with you. He knows he can’t drag you out of the house unless you’re in the mood, so that means he’s gotta stay home with you if he wants your attention. That doesn’t make him any less energetic, though. Don’t expect to get a lot of work done unless you’re gonna seriously lay it on him that you can’t just stop working to entertain him. He’ll get the message… eventually.

Aether: Respects your space, if you’re in your home office he’s not likely to bug you. Totally willing to go do his own thing while you work. Sometimes if you ask he’ll sit with you while you work and play guitar so you have some background noise, or he’ll make light conversation. Probably the most prone to making you take breaks if he thinks you’ve been working too long, though. Will drag you out to the kitchen for dinner, or maybe go sit outside for a breather. He knows work is important, but so is play. You can go back to work later.

Mountain: Gonna have to figure out a schedule for work calls/quiet time vs when he gets to play drums at home. Personally I’m not averse to randomly listening to someone play drums but… not everyone would be a fan. Also respects your work space and doesn’t mind giving you some quiet time if you need it. When he feels like you need to take a break he’d probably knock on the doorframe and present you with a mug of tea or coffee or hot chocolate… whatever you prefer. That or a little snack. Or he’d pop in to say, “Y’know, it’s about 1, which is normally lunch time… I don’t wanna eat alone, so…” Is too cute when asking to say no to.

Swiss: Like Dew, probably a little annoying. He wants to sit in your workspace with you, and he’ll be pretty quiet, but he’s so touchy. Playing with your hair, kissing your neck, wanting to hold your hand, sitting there and gently pushing your chair. He’s silently annoying. You can give him exasperated sighs and eye rolls and huffs galore, but it’ll just make him smile and chuckle. Eventually you’re either gonna have to give into his pestering, or politely remind him your work is important. If you go with the latter he’s gonna pout and ask, “What? I’m not?” earning him another sigh. He’s kidding, and you know that, but there’s really no getting out of showing him he’s important to… He won’t tease you all the time because he’s fine to entertain himself, but sometimes he can’t help but pester you into taking a break.

Rain: Finally, someone who can sit in your office and keep you company quietly, AND without bothering you. He’s going to find something of his own to work on to keep him busy, he might even put earbuds in to work. Much more prone to losing track of time, though, and sitting there working for hours on end with no break. You’re going to have to set reminders or alarms for breaks or lunch. Sometimes when he isn’t sitting quietly working on his own thing with you, he’ll come in to get you to take a break and take a nap with him. He’ll argue that a good nap in the middle of the day could make you more productive. Don’t fact check him (or me) though, it’s probably best to just give in. Probably also not the most social, so stay home for however long you want.

Cirrus: Responsible time management queen. Definitely prone to reminding you to take breaks to stretch, or have a snack or lunch, or some tea, or a nap… just wants you to take good care of your body. Your mind, too! She’ll get you a puzzle or something to do when you have some downtime. Or she’ll find you on a break and say, “You know what would be fun? If we cleaned the kitchen! Or did laundry!” And it’s not in a condescending way or to make you feel like you’ve been putting off chores. It’s just… something she can do to spend time with you. She wants to do the dishes with you, or fold laundry with you, or squeeze the dish soap bottle in front of you guys so it makes all those little pretty bubbles. Your work is important, so she won’t bother you when you’re focused. But when you have a moment, she’s gonna pounce on the opportunity to do something domestic with you.

Cumulus: You’ve been working pretty diligently, in the office most of the day. There has been some noise in the kitchen, but nothing you decided warranted investigation. Until, hours later, you definitely think that is the smell of something burning. When you slide into the kitchen (damn socks on tile) there is Cumulus, her cute apron has been made a complete mess, holding a tray of cookies in the chaos that was formerly called a functional kitchen. Flour and cookie dough are on every available surface, dishes piled high in the sink and the mixer still on the counter with plenty of cookie dough left in the bowl. Her sheepish smile makes you feel bad for wanting to get angry for a moment. “I just thought it’d be nice to make you a snack! You were so focused, I didn’t want to bother you, but I wanted to get you to take a break, maybe, so I thought I’d make cookies…” She’s going on and on about it, and you can’t help but snag a taste of the cookie dough out of the bowl. “I’m sorry if they taste bad, or that the kitchen’s a mess, or-” You cut her off before she can make any more apologies, because the cookie dough is so good, and she’s just as sweet - if not more. You take a break and settle down at the table with your new snacks and a chatty ghoul. Work (and cleaning up the kitchen) can wait a bit. Cookies are best fresh out of the oven.

Papa I: Home office buddies! You can both sit and work quietly in the same room. I think he might fall asleep in his chair sometimes, though. Try not to leave him there, it’s bad for his spine. Wake him up and you can both have some tea, or maybe sit and talk or have lunch. Sometimes he even has enough energy even to take a little walk with you when the weather is nice. When he does go out he makes sure you really want to stay home and work by yourself. Why not come work in his office for a day? Or work outside if you can? A change of scenery is always nice. You’re sure you want to stay home? Alright, but please make sure not to work for hours at a time. He’ll have sticky notes on his desk with the clergy reminding him to call you to make sure you’re getting adequate breaks. Or he’ll have a ghoul remind him to call you, or if he ends up being in the middle of something and can’t call, you’re getting a call with a ghoul on the end saying, “Papa requested I check with you to make sure you’re taking a break from your work at this time.” You can lie to the ghoul if you want, but would you really wanna lie to Papa? Might as well come back to what’s at your desk later.

Papa II: I know he’s a party animal and everything, but he’s also a pretty serious guy. You’d probably be the one to distract him from work before he distracts you. Early riser, he’s on that grind for the clergy from dawn to dusk. More prone to leaving the house to work, But he’ll leave you a little note each day before he leaves. When he is home, he’ll be somewhere in the house doing his own thing. Might sit down in your office if he’s feeling particularly friendly that day. If he thinks you need to take a break, whatever it may be for (wink wink nudge nudge) the possibility of getting out of it is slim to none. Like I said, pretty serious. Definitely the most prone to performing some not safe for work acts when he is feeling up to messing with you. Good thing is, you work from home. I don’t think he’d care either way, though.

Papa III: Has the same dirty mind as his older brother, but is laying on the charms instead of getting right to it. He wants to woo you away from your work. He’s showering you with compliments, telling you that you’re so gorgeous you shouldn’t have to waste the day working. He’s probably prone to occasionally dragging you away to go out to lunch. Somewhere quiet and private because he knows you probably aren’t one for big crowds or busy places. He likes to work but he also likes to play, he doesn’t take his own job seriously so he’s going to try to convince you to have the same mindset. You can get your work done most days, but you’ve definitely got a break or two in the middle of the day that’s all about Papa.

Cardinal Copia/Papa IV: He’s probably got about the same work ethic as you. Works for a reasonable amount of time each day, sometimes he forgets to take breaks or eat, and at the end of the day you can find him on the couch doing nothing because he did stuff all day and now he doesn’t wanna do stuff anymore. That’s alone, though. When you’re there, his day is immediately better. You can both complain to each other about work stuff, you can whip up something in the kitchen together, and you can sit on the couch in pajamas eating and watching trashy tv and roasting it. If he wasn’t currently in charge of the entire clergy, he’d likely work from home more often. But alas, his job is extremely important, and so most days he’s out of the house. Not prone to texting you or leaving notes, but he will do something more random that you’ll see. He’ll send something to your work e-mail. A sweet note, or a meme that his young-but-still-old-kinda man brain can grasp. Or sometimes he opens the window to send you something, gets distracted, and one of his rats runs across the keyboard while he’s turned away and you receive an e-mail that just says: “efjsksf’;d;;’;;..;]’.l;.” which is hilarious and makes you laugh for 10 minutes until you’re wheezing and maybe crying a little. Laugh breaks are the best breaks.

- @oriharaobito

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paganinpurple · 4 years ago

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A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

Tired. So tired. It's only 10pm. Work is killing me, I'm sure of it.

If I die, work sus.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Day 23 - Pillows and Blankets

Just because he wasn’t Chat Noir all the time didn’t mean he wasn’t Chat Noir all the time.

There were certain things about having spent so long as Chat before he had let Marinette and then her parents in on his secret that seemed to have skewed his appreciation for some of the same things that Plagg loved.

Soft pillows beneath his head, warm blankets around him. Cosy material against his skin and a delicious spot of sun shining down on his torso from the skylight above him.

Warmth.

The blessed warmth that had finally returned to him in full. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Marinette was the source of most of that warmth. He glanced over at her sleeping face –relaxed and gorgeous– despite the spot of drool currently threatening to drip from the corner of her mouth. He gave a soft chuckle and carefully wiped it away with his thumb, causing her to nuzzle her face further into the pink pillow they both shared. He carefully shifted a bit closer to her, gingerly reaching back out to stroke her arm as he considered how she would react if she woke up with him slinking into her snug little bubble.

He thought back to how timid she’d seemed last night when she’d first suggested they share the bed. Even though she had appeared more relaxed than he was when they had first gotten in, he wasn’t sure how much of her confidence was down to her delayed illness and the related lack of inhibitions. Maybe if she woke up feeling renewed, his presence would become a shock.

He balanced himself precariously between the pros and cons of her waking up in a marvellous cuddle-puddle with him. The pros involved the enchanting warmth, the scent of her hair and her supple slightness against his own body; the cons, his own deep-burrowing insecurities and possibly an outrageous physical reaction from the startled girl as she woke.

He was just recalling how much her embarrassed shoves and other attacks had been escalating lately when she surprised him with a violent shiver from beneath the duvet. His arm was wrapped around her with haste and he swore the movement of it blurred before his very eyes. Delicately, he cradled her against him, leaving plenty of space on her side of the bed. That way, he reasoned, she wouldn’t feel trapped if she woke up and instinctively tried to pull away from him in shock.

He felt a tug at his chest and glanced down at the small hand twisting into his shirt lightly, sincere affection once again melting through him as a wave of love with a slight hint of embarrassment flooded his mind. She continued her assault on the fabric, frowning slightly when she didn’t seem better able to grip the material to pull him closer. Instead, she slunk into the last available sliver of space between them, nuzzling his collar bone with her nose. Her only sound was a slight grumble when his sudden shaky breath disturbed the hair hanging against her face.

“M-Marinette?” he said breathily.

Another sharp shiver was his only answer and this time it was followed by a continuous shuddering as her body fought to warm off the invading chill seeping into her very bones.

He tried to reach above him to grab the huge cat pillow she kept on her bed, hoping to position it against her back like a second body to keep all of her heat from escaping, but her hold on his shirt tightened as if he were trying to desert her and she didn’t agree with his departure at all.

He quickly examined the death-grip of her fingers and made a half-hearted attempt to pry them away before the whine that left her throat had him abandoning that idea in an instant.

“Plagg!” he whisper-shouted with urgency.

“Hmm?” grumbled the familiar voice of his kwami sleepily from somewhere on the bookshelf above his head.

“I need to transform.”

“Wh-?” Plagg cut off with a yawn before popping his head over the edge of the shelf, “What time is it? I never heard the akuma alert go off.”

Adrien glared at the tiny creature. “It’s not an akuma and it’s not even that early!” he said in annoyance. His eyes widened and trailed the area around him for a beat before he added, “Probably.”

“Then why…?” Plagg said, trailing off with a grin as he noticed the way Marinette’s fingers were attempting to infuse themselves into the fibres of his clothing. “Oh, I see. Isn’t this the kind of thing you’d usually kill to have happening between you two?”

“Not when she’s freezing, and I can’t move to reach anything to help her!” he spluttered indignantly, averting his eyes from the smug little god.

With a brief shrug from the kwami in response, Adrien called for his transformation, the fabric Marinette was holding onto disappearing in the process of becoming Chat Noir and releasing him from her sleepy constraint.

She fumbled for him and in turn he moved quickly, pulling the duvet up to her chin and tucking it in beneath her back to trap in as much heat as he could. The cat pillow was snuggled in against her back as well, another defence against any pesky draughts that might try to attack with a chill.

He had barely finished his little nest when a small hand clutched at his bell and hauled him back down to the mattress. The high-pitched yelp that he expelled would have been hilarious if he’d heard it from anyone else, and he was extremely thankful that Plagg was vocally-challenged right now because of his transformation.

Refusing to give him an opportunity to remove himself from her clutches, Marinette unleashed another sleeping sneak attack and folded both of her arms around his middle. Her hands met somewhere around the small of his back and from the feel of it, she had interlocked them to keep him from pulling away again.

“Purr,” she sighed dreamily before a scowl slowly began to adorn her face instead. He smiled as she began to gently nudge his chest with her temple.

Taking his cue, he concentrated until he could feel his chest rumble and a gentle hum accompanying it. Relaxing himself once the purr had become instinctive, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed again, his lashes feathering against his cheeks, and found himself drifting off to sleep once more.

Eyelids flickered and twitched as a strange sound reached his ears.

Chat opened his heavy lids again to the sight of dark raven locks and caught the overpowering scent of flour in the air, but he was no closer to understanding why he had woken this time. With a smile, he buried his nose in Marinette’s dark hair and that strange sound from before repeated again.

With a wrinkled brow he slowly dragged his head from the pillow to see if he could spy a source and whipped round when he saw someone from the corner of his eye.

At the foot of the bed sat Marinette’s mother, her eyes dewed, hands clasped over her heart against her floury apron. Her lips were turned up in an amused smirk and when she saw him staring at her in horror, Chat heard the sound again, as yet another muffled chuckle escaped her.

“Sabine!” he wobbled, “I can explain! I-”

“Shush! My goodness, don’t wake her!” she said, palms out towards him in an attempt to calm him down.

“Huh?,” he whispered, perplexed, “I don’t understand. Aren’t you mad?”

…

Well, he’d never been on the receiving end of that look before.

Sabine often used a unique way of alerting Marinette or Tom to the fact that they were being ridiculous over something trivial that they had managed to build up in their head, and it was unbelievably simple. She would simply give them the most deadpan look she could muster, face still and unimpressed. Then, after she had held it for several seconds to make her point, her left eyebrow would raise the most miniscule amount, like a non-verbal version of a sarcastic, “Really?”

That exact eyebrow ascension was being directed at him right now and Chat had never felt quite this stupid before – though for what, he wasn’t entirely sure. It was also kind of amazing how Sabine could make him feel that way, yet never once make him doubt that she loved him as if he were her own son. His own father had often made him doubt his love for him, even back before his mother had gone missing. Back when everything had been “good” at home and magic jewellery was but a twinkle in his imagination.

“Uh, sorry?” he told the woman, feeling like he needed to explain his reasoning, regardless of how sketchy it might seem, “I’m in her bed. We’re not even supposed to be sharing a room anymore, and we’re sharing a bed right now.”

The look never faltered as she continued to silently question his intelligence.

“Not that I want you to be angry, but isn’t that how a mom is meant to be when she finds out something like this?”

Her facial wargame was interrupted when Marinette shivered suddenly and cuddled in tighter to Chat’s loosened embrace to rebalance her dropping temperature. The action reminded him that he still hadn’t explained the reason behind the situation, something he intended to rectify immediately.

“We caught colds,” he summed up, “It’s warmest up here so we decided to share the heat. It’s never happened before, and it won’t happen again. I promise.”

Sabine snorted in a very Marinette-ish way, before a smirk appeared on her face. “Never?” she asked.

Chat felt his face redden more steadily with every second. “We’ve never shared a bed before,” he said, voice tremulous and weak.

”Well, that’s a surprise,” she answered, her eyes at once expanding in shock, “Tom and I were sure the two of you must have been, given how comfortable you are with sharing your personal space during battles and patrols.”

“What?”

“In particular, that picture Nadja’s network got during that little heatwave we had made me think cuddle naps were a normal thing.”

“That was before we knew our identities!” he squeaked, remembering how much Ladybug had lamented dozing off against his chest after a reporter had snapped them in the couple-y position. The questions hadn’t stopped for months.

“Oh? And has something changed since then? …Really?”

Glancing down at the sleeping enchantress next to him, Chat wondered if Sabine might have a point. Had things changed? Part of him hoped so. After all, Ladybug had claimed not to have any feelings beyond friendship for him back then.

Buy Me A Coffee?

#PIP writes #marichatmay2019 #A Feline's Family #MariChat May #MariChat

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shrinkynatural · 5 years ago

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(The Witcher) Ficlet: Minigiant!Geralt and the bard who is not sick, no, seriously, Geralt, he’s fine!

Previous parts in the series: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) I will make a proper tag for this soon, I swear.

And a note I made in an ask yesterday and figured I should clarify here, these are all set so far around the first few years that Jaskier and Geralt know each other. That makes Jaskier between 18 and 22 as he is in this piece. They kind of jump around and they aren’t in order.

Anyway, on with the fic!

It starts with an annoying case of the sniffles when Jaskier wakes up one morning, the air being particularly damp this time of year and camping out three nights in a row didn’t help. He shakes his hand through his hair to get rid of the dew that collected there, sniffling and coughing a bit to clear the heavy feeling in his nose and throat.

Geralt is across the camp, sitting cross-legged and eating the last of the fruit they’d foraged the day before. He’s paused with a bruised apple halfway to his mouth and he’s watching Jaskier with a surprised and suspicious look, which the bard just waves away.

“Bit of a morning frog, don’t give me that look,” he chides, voice a little hoarse yet. “I’ll be right as rain in an hour or two.”

And he is, being upright and moving will have cleared his head and by midday Jaskier is strumming his lute and singing away as they walk. Geralt puts it out of his mind and is soon distracted by the village they’ve finally arrived at.

He hates the settlements of men, tiny buildings cramped together containing tinier people. People give him a wide berth when he leads Roach between those buildings but children tend to get too close if they aren’t held tight by their parents. Geralt walks slowly, watching his feet and Roach’s hooves. It helps that Jaskier has taken to walking a few paces ahead of him, arms waving and taking up more space than he should.

For all that Jaskier’s talking about a nice hot meal and a nice and comfortable bed he leads the way straight to the noticeboard. He scans it and makes idle commentary even as Geralt walks up behind him and looks for something useful as well. Nothing here.

“Ah well,” Jaskier sighs, leaning back against Geralt without caution or care. “Looks like it’s my turn, doesn’t it? We have enough coin to stay the night and if they’ll let me play I should be able to earn it back and more. I can debut my new song about you and the ghouls! I worked on it all winter, you’re going to love it.”

He does not love it, it’s exaggerated and twisted to just barely teeter on the edge of truth. The crowd does love it, all their attention on the bard as he weaves the story around them. There are gasps and clapping to the chorus and not as much coin as they hoped but it was still a success. There are still wary looks Geralt’s way but at least no one decides to be ‘brave’ and confront him with their opinions.

They meet back in the tavern for breakfast that morning and Geralt can hear that frog in Jaskier’s throat again. He’s drinking a steaming, herbal beverage from a small cup and he obviously isn’t enjoying it from the face he makes every time, but he waves off Geralt’s concerned look.

“Just overworked myself a bit last night, it happens.” He smiles a bit and hides it quickly with another sip. “Looks like I’ll just have to practice more often.”

Geralt gives him a look but the arrival of his breakfast distracts him from anything he might want to say to that. Breakfast is rather quiet with Jaskier focused on his tea and for once Geralt decides to fill the silence.

“How much coin did you get last night?” he asks, because a practical question is the easiest to ask. “We should restock on supplies before we leave, the settlements are rather far apart in this area.”

Jaskier smiles and his voice cracks when he goes to speak. The bard makes an annoyed face and holds up one finger as he takes another drink, then clears his throat. It sounds wet and thick but Geralt supposes that’s just the tea. “I made back what we spent and then some, like I said I would. We can easily pick up supplies before we leave. And maybe some treats as well, we passed the baker’s on the way here and, Geralt, I’m telling you there are things sweeter than bread baking in there.”

“Maybe. It’s still early in the year, we should be saving for emergencies.” Geralt holds his free hand out for the coin purse, not even twitching at the disappointed whine Jaskier lets out. “Stop that, I promised your mother--”

“It’s spring! I’m not going to starve in spring! And I already gave you my allowance, you brute,” Jaskier protests. He still reaches to his side and grabs the decently heavy pouch, handing it over.

He knows how much they still have on them, all the way up to and including the breakfast they’re eating now. Coin is important to Witchers, something he doesn’t think Jaskier’s quite felt the reality of in their months of travel together the last three years. Or maybe he forgets, because to him security is only a letter home away.

They have enough for supplies and Jaskier buys a tin of that tea and Geralt allows him to buy one sweet from the baker’s. He splits it between them despite Geralt’s protests.

Over the next few days Geralt becomes very closely acquainted with the smell of that tea. Jaskier drinks it first thing in the morning, when they stop for lunch, and when they make camp for the night. It seems to help the thickness in his throat in the short-term, but after a couple of hours he’s having to clear his throat often and occasionally even cough.

Before Jaskier had insisted on singing as they walked, but soon he was only strumming his lute and eventually not even that. He would sing when they made camp, but now he was out of breath before he’d get through a couple of verses. Any time Geralt would comment on it the bard would dismiss his worries, saying it was only a little cold. An annoying thing, but not a threatening one.

But then Jaskier started sleeping restlessly. And took longer to wake up even though they had barely finished dinner before he was climbing into his bedroll.

He walked slower.

He didn’t sing or strum his lute.

He didn’t tease Geralt or try to sneak Roach treats.

He didn’t talk at all.

And still Geralt’s concerns were waved away with the less and less reassuring reassurance that it was only a cold and would pass.

He wasn’t stupid; he’d been human once, he’d had a cold…probably? It was difficult to remember. But Geralt has been around a long time and he’s seen people recover from these things and more often drop dead of them as their body drowns them in their sleep.

He doesn’t sleep when they camp for the night, choosing to meditate with the sound of Jaskier’s rattling breathing and weak snores taunting him. By morning he’s made the decision and before Jaskier wakes Geralt packs up most of their camp and makes him his tea. The bard doesn’t stir even when he deliberately makes noise, leaving him to go over and nudge him awake himself.

The cough Jaskier lets out when he goes to speak is awful and he scrambles for his handkerchief, one of many they’ve washed multiple times over the last week. Geralt doesn’t say anything, just passes him the cup and makes him drink. Even swallowing looks painful for Jaskier now and that only supports his decision. While the bard drinks his tea Geralt starts picking up their packs and supplies, only instead of placing them on Roach they go around his shoulders, over his back.

“You’ll ride Roach today,” he says it casually despite the wide-eyed look it gets him. Not once in the three years they’ve known each other has Geralt let Jaskier ride Roach when he wasn’t bleeding or otherwise injured. “There should be a village within a day’s walk and we’ll make it there faster if you ride. We’ll stay there until you’re better.”

He turns away before Jaskier can protest and puts his bedroll across Roach’s back, hoping it’ll help to cushion and steady Jaskier for the day’s ride ahead. He might have to walk alongside him to keep him steady. When Geralt’s done he goes back to put out the fire and collect the cup from Jaskier, tucking it away in one of his bags and rolling up his bedroll next. Jaskier tries to do the job himself but Geralt’s quicker and he’s tying it closed before the bard can make the croaked protest.

“Ger’lt, ‘m ‘ine,” he declares, voice barely more than breath on the wind. “I ‘nt ‘low ‘s dow…n.”

“You have been,” Geralt counters bluntly and doesn’t flinch at the hurt look Jaskier gives him. He does sigh. “Jaskier, you’re sick. You need rest. Warmth. Safety. You’ll get that in the village, not out here. We tried it your way and now it’s my turn.”

He holds out his hand and after a stubborn moment Jaskier takes it so he can help the bard to his feet. They go over to Roach and Geralt can see Jaskier hesitating over just how he’s going to get up onto the massive pack horse. There’s no way he has the strength or the breath for that so Geralt just gets behind Jaskier and settles his hands on the bard’s slender waist, then lifts him up easily so that he can get his leg over Roach and then carefully sets him down.

“Is that comfortable? I have no saddle, but the bedroll should be enough padding.” He steps forward, tugging at the front of the bedroll to straighten it and then looking up at Jaskier. The man’s cheeks are red and Geralt hopes that isn’t an indication of a fever.

“’S ‘ine,” Jaskier breathes, his hands fluttering around before grabbing onto the bedroll with one and Geralt’s shoulder with the other. It startles them both for a moment since they’re rarely so close in height like this. “Bit…un’teady.”

“I’ll walk alongside, just keep your hand on my shoulder,” he instructs him softly, and then he’s gathering up Roach’s lead and they’re off.

Travel does go faster once they figure out the right pace and Geralt rests his free hand on Jaskier’s back to keep the bard from listing away. It’s not comfortable and after a couple of hours when they take a break to get Jaskier some water he gives Geralt the most pathetic look.

“C’n’t…car’y me?” he asks, tiredly stretching his legs out and bending his knees.

It would be easier, but more dangerous along these roads. Geralt would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it, as much as he’s always made a fuss about the bard climbing him like a child scaling a tree. “I need my hands free in case we run across trouble. I can drop the gear, I won’t drop you.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows go up and his lower lip wobbles just a bit. “’hat’s so ‘weet.”

“It’s practical,” Geralt corrects with a roll of his eyes. To keep the bard from waxing even more poetic and straining his throat worse he reaches down and lifts him up into his arms so he can take him back to Roach.

Even with the regular stops to give Jaskier rest and drink water or tea they make good time to the village. The bard is a half-asleep, miserable, moaning mess but he does try to temper his dramatics once they start walking past people. Geralt always draws looks wherever he goes so it isn’t difficult to get someone to point him in the direction of the inn. It has a stable attached, thankfully, and he goes there first.

The stable boy stares up at him with wide eyes but he takes Roach’s lead and the coin Geralt passes to him without a fuss. Children are always more fascinated than scared of him. The sight of a massive, terrifying Witcher gathering a grown man into his arms probably helps lessen the intimidating image.

“Is he going to die?” the boy asks, looking from Geralt to Jaskier and back with that typical fascination with the macabre that children have.

He scowls at him, only trying to lessen the severity of it when the boy steps back. “It’s only a cold, he just needs to sleep.”

The stable boy nods, then as Geralt turns away says, “The baker’s mum had a cold last year, only it made her lungs rattle and she drowned for three days.”

This time Geralt doesn’t even attempt to rein in the glare he sends the boys way, darkly satisfied with how he pales and hurries Roach into the stable. He holds a barely mumbling Jaskier closer and strides to the inn. He has to duck through the doorway and as always his presence brings the early dinner crowd to a screeching halt. The innkeep behind the bar looks like he wants to say something, likely turn him out, but his eyes land on the bard in his arms and the confusion causes him to hesitate long enough for Geralt to speak.

“He needs a room. On the ground floor.” He makes sure to leave no room for argument in his tone, and the man just nods and stammers out the price--one that’s pretty fair as well. Geralt shifts Jaskier to one arm and grabs his coin purse, fishing out the correct amount and pushing it across the bar.

He picks up the pouch again and follows the innkeeper through the still staring crowd and down the narrow hallway to the room. Geralt has to hunch over and curl his shoulders in and they still brush either wall. He keeps Jaskier close so he doesn’t knock his head or feet against the walls either and it’s a relief to be shown into the room. It’s narrow as well but a damn blessing compared to the hallway. There’s a pallet against one wall he can set Jaskier on and enough room for Geralt to sit and stretch out his legs on the floor next to him, so that’s what he does.

Jaskier lets out a whiny, pathetic noise as Geralt sets him down and he has to take the bard’s hands and pry them off of him. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are flushed and he really hopes Jaskier hasn’t gotten a fever. He removes his boots and covers him in the bedroll not soaked in horse sweat, and once he’s settled Geralt starts to remove all of their travel gear to find the tea. He’ll have to go ask the innkeeper to let him brew some, and maybe he’ll ask if there’s a healer or someone willing to sell him more in the village.

It’s a slightly unsettling feeling to get up and leave Jaskier in the room, but Geralt tells him where he’s going and promises to be right back. He sighs and pushes again through the too-small hallway into the dining area. Everyone hurriedly turns back to their meals like he wouldn’t notice they were watching his door. He hates villages, he hates being stuck here. He carries the tin of tea up to the bar where the innkeep is waiting, a startled look on his face like he hadn’t expected the witcher to reappear so soon, and sets the tin on the stained plank of wood.

“I need to make this. Do you have soup?” Geralt watches as the man looks at the little tin as though it might up and attack him, then turns that same look on him.

“Ah, yes, yes--well, it’s a stew,” the man corrects himself, then holds up his hands. “But we can thin it if you like! Two bowls?”

Geralt thinks on it and looks into his coin purse, mentally calculating the cost of being here until Jaskier is well enough to travel. It doesn’t help that he isn’t sure how long that will be so it’s best to err on the side of caution. He still has plenty of rations in his pack, better to leave the coin for Jaskier and Roach.

“One bowl. And the tea.” He places the coin down and puts the pouch away. “His throat is sore, taking his voice, and he has a cough that started in the mornings but lasts all day and night now. We’re just here until he’s better.”

It’s meant as a reassurance and it works, the innkeeper and the general feeling of the room relaxing now that they know what’s going on. The man takes the coin and the tin and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Geralt looming at the bar and waiting.

“Are you that White Wolf then?” one of the patrons asks, breaking the silence and making a few people around the room jump. “Geralt of Rivia?”

“Not the name I know him by,” another one murmurs, hurriedly looking down at his bowl when Geralt turns to look at them.

“That lad must be the bard then,” the first continues, clucking his tongue. He’s quite advanced in his years, a sun-wrinkled face and a barely there fluff of white hair around his ears. Too old to put effort into fearing anyone or anything. “Pity he’s sick, I’ve heard a couple of his songs when I go to the nearby town for market. I thought you’d be taller. Maybe when he’s better he’ll give us a performance, eh?”

The absurdity of…all of that makes Geralt huff in what would almost be laughter. “He likes to exaggerate. And he might give a show, if we can stay that long.”

He adds the last like an afterthought, thinking Jaskier would be proud of him for even attempting the lament like the bard so often does. It even works, with the man waving a hand like witchers--especially one specific witcher--don’t get run out of towns and villages on the regular.

“Plenty of work to be done this time of year,” he tells Geralt. “Might not be the big monster slaying you’re used to, but it was a harsh winter. And there are a lot of fences need fixing in the fields and the roof of Henry’s barn sunk in after a heavy snow. Can start as early as tomorrow morning, no sense wasting time.”

Geralt nods, easily not looking as smugly pleased as he feels. “I’m willing to help.”

There are a few murmurs and nods from others in the room and he’s saved from more conversation by the innkeeper coming back out from the kitchen. He’s carrying the tin and a bowl of thinned stew that he sets on the bar.

“Tea’s steeping, I’ll have my wife bring it back to your room when it’s done.” He nods, and it’s as kind a dismissal as Geralt ever gets so he nods back and picks it up before heading back to Jaskier without a word.

He finds the bard much as he left him, eyes closed and lightly snoring. Geralt would like to let him sleep but Jaskier hasn’t eaten much the last couple of days because of his throat, and Geralt’s poor excuse for a rabbit stew will hardly compare to the richness he can smell coming from this bowl. He sets both down on a small table and kneels beside the pallet, rest one hand over Jaskier’s shoulder and giving him a gentle shake.

“Jaskier, wake up.” He tries to keep his voice low and soothing but even he knows it’s quite loud even so. As the bard said once when he was trying to make the witcher sing with him one night, he has a big voice befitting a big body and it’s such a damn waste that he rarely speaks.

The shaking only produces a wheeze from the bard and he tries to roll over on his side away from Geralt, but he’ll be having none of that and easily pulls him back.

“’o ‘way, sleep’ now,” Jaskier mumbles, half-heartedly swatting at Geralt’s hand. He cracks his eyes open to give him a glare that wouldn’t scare a kitten. “Ger’lt.”

“I brought you something to eat, and the tea will be ready soon. You need to sit up,” Geralt explains, hoping the promise of food and tea will tempt the bard into rising. It does, with some help and grabbing the other bedroll to stuff behind his back so he can lean back against it.

He turns to grab the bowl and when he turns back Jaskier’s eyes are slightly more clear. He’s looking around the room in confusion and embarrassment starts to creep into the expression.

“We made it to the village. Yes, I carried you in. Eat the stew before it gets cold and unpleasant and we’ve wasted coin.” There’s a touch of embarrassment in Geralt’s tone as well, rising up when Jaskier turns surprised eyes on him as he speaks. He gets that damned dewy look on his face and Geralt pushes the bowl at him before he can try to speak and hurts his throat more. “Eat, bard.”

Jaskier reaches for the bowl with a wide smile and takes a sip, eyes closing and letting out a rough little sigh. After that he takes the spoon and takes more, sticking mainly to the broth and only occasionally tackling a piece of meat or a vegetable. Satisfied that he won’t drop the bowl Geralt sits back against the wall and pulls over one of their bags, taking out some dried meats and a few edible leaves from their rations.

Geralt eats contentedly, mindful not to get too relaxed in this place in case attitudes turn, and it takes him a moment to realize that Jaskier has stopped eating. He looks over and the bard is giving him that weepy look again, eyes flicking from his stew to Geralt’s rations.

“No,” he states firmly before Jaskier can travel any further down whatever mental rabbit hole he’s thinking himself into. “You will eat all of that and you will rest and get better. We are not so low on coin but I want to be careful so we can stay here as long as we need.”

Jaskier still opens his mouth to protest but Geralt just sits forward, plucks a soft bit of parsnip from the stew and shoves it into the bard’s mouth.

“No talking,” he scolds, ignoring the absolutely indignant look Jaskier is giving him right now. “The people here have heard your songs, they want a performance when you’re better. Would you disappoint them after they’ve helped us? I didn’t even have to struggle for a room or food for you here.”

That gets Jaskier’s attention, first excitement at being recognized and second surprise and delight at their reception of the witcher. He nods and performs the best motions of a bow to Geralt that he can while sitting before going back to his stew.

The bowl is nearly empty when Geralt hears footsteps coming down the hall. They stop in front of their room and there’s a moment’s hesitation before the innkeeper’s wife knocks.

“Come in,” Geralt calls as softly as he can manage, and the door opens to admit an older woman carrying a steaming mug.

“Oh, good! He’s up and eating!” she coos, momentarily distracted from her anxiousness. Jaskier has that effect on people, especially when he makes his eyes big and gives that crooked smile like he’s doing right now. He holds up the nearly empty bowl and nods, making her smile back. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it. Now I’ve got that tea the good witcher asked us to make for you; it’s a good mix, our herbalist has one much the same and others, too. She’s asleep already by this time of day but tomorrow I suggest you get something proper that’ll help clear up that cough of yours.”

She moves to walk into the room but hesitates at Geralt’s outstretched legs that take up nearly all the free space of the room. He hurries to pull them in, clearing a path to the pallet where she hands the tea to Jaskier and takes the bowl in its place. The endearing smile is still on the bard’s face but he can see his lips twitching even as he nods again and mouths a ‘thank you.’

“All right, don’t either of you hesitate to ask for anything while you’re here,” she says, nodding to both of them as she quickly steps back to the door. “We’re looking forward to hearing some good music around here when you’re better. And Master Witcher, Leo said he’ll see you outside the inn at dawn if you were serious about helping with the barn and the fences. Have a good evening!”

She closes the door behind her when she leaves and Jaskier cracks, letting out a laugh that’s nothing more than a harsh rush of air. Geralt stretches his legs back out and just taps the side of the pallet with his foot, not wanting to make him spill any tea. It’s good to see him having the energy to laugh, even if it isn’t the same.

“Drink your tea, Jaskier,” is all he says in response to that bard’s humor. “And get some more rest, I’m going to check on Roach and make sure she’s settled in.”

Instead of listening, Jaskier is quick to put down his tea and make fluttering hands toward his bag on the other side of Geralt. He obliges and passes it over, watching curiously as the bard digs through it and lets out a wheeze that is supposed to be one of triumph? As he pulls out a small pouch and holds it out to Geralt. He takes it and opens in, the sharp, sweet scent of sugar hitting his nose.

“How are Lettenhove’s horses not all fat and toothless with how you spoil them?” he huffs, but he pulls it shut and keeps it in his hand. Jaskier just grins at him and presses a hand to his heart. “Drink. Your. Tea.”

He gets to his feet while Jaskier takes a very deliberate, overacted drink of the tea. Geralt huffs back at him and resists the urge to reach out and give him a little shove like he normally would. He leaves the room, careful to make sure the door is firmly closed behind him, and walks past the now more crowded room to the exit.

As glad as he is to get Jaskier that room Geralt feels a rush of relief once he’s outside. He can stand to his full height and he rolls his shoulders as he walks to the stable. The mouthy stable boy is a good kid, Roach is brushed down and has fresh water and hay in her stall and she has that heavy-lidded look that only comes from a good meal after a long day.

“You did a good job today, girl,” he tells her, reaching out to brush his fingers over her nose. She pushes into the touch and he allows himself a small smile. “I’m proud of you, I know you don’t like carrying a rider but you did what you had to. I promise we won’t let it get into his head that he’ll get to do that all the time.”

He brings up the small pouch of sugar and rolls his eyes as her ears prick forward and she stretches her neck out to get at it. He nudges her head to the side with his free hand and steps back so he can pull it open, tipping a couple of the crumbled cubes into his palm.

“Easy,” he soothes, holding out his hand flat for her to eagerly lip up the treat. “There you go. We’ll be here a few days at least so you’ll get some rest, but we’ll go for a walk around the village tomorrow. You can stretch your legs and I can make sure broken fence posts are the worst thing this place has to offer.”

Geralt spends more time than he means to out there, but he’s only had a year with this Roach so not long at all. She’s proven to be a smart and faithful companion so far and for hopefully many years to come. He pats her again and tells her good night, pausing when she reaches for him and indulging her with more pets. She’s certainly one of the most affectionate Roaches he’s had over the years.

“I’m sleeping with Jaskier tonight, much as I’d rather be out here,” he tells her with a little sigh. The stall right next to her is empty and wide and so damn inviting. “But someone has to keep an eye on him, and I can take a cramped room for a few nights if it means he doesn’t drown in his sleep. He doesn’t deserve that, the little bard’s survived the Path with me for three years now. I can watch over him for a few nights.”

He brushes his fingers through her forelock and bids her good night, then goes back to the inn. The sun has finished setting and the tables are packed with people getting a drink after a hard day of work. They stare when he walks in, of course, but the innkeeper and a couple of men who were here when he arrived just nod to him and no one says anything. Geralt makes it back to their room in peace and feels relieved when he closes the door behind him without incident.

It’s dark in the room, not a problem for the witcher, and Jaskier is safe where he left him on the pallet. The bard is dozing again but he rouses as Geralt walks to his previous spot, this time settling into his familiar meditation pose.

“Ger--” Jaskier starts and has to clear his throat, the hoarse drag of phlegm unsettling in the silence.

“It’s me,” Geralt confirms, not wanting the bard to keep speaking. “Go to sleep.”

But of course he’s stubborn, pushing himself up onto his elbow and staring in his direction. “’eeping ‘here? Ro..ach?”

“Sharing a room costs less coin--don’t argue,” he says firmly the moment he sees Jaskier looking fussy. “It’s not a problem.”

He can see the bard’s face twist into a scowl, likely remembering all the times that it has been a problem. In their time together Geralt has been vocal about how he hates inns; they’re never quiet enough for him to sleep and the rooms are always too small and the people smell irritates his nose.

“Jaskier.” Geralt lets his voice turn soft and Jaskier recognizes what that means. He can see the fight go out of him as he lies back down--with a scratchy huff, because he must be contrary. “Thank you.”

Jaskier flutters a hand at him and settles on his back, shifting to get comfortable. Geralt can tell he’s still fatigued from how quickly he drops off. He knows that sleep is important for the body to heal and he’ll make sure Jaskier gets that while they’re here.

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #minigiant!geralt #rating: green #there might be a part two to this #i wanted to write more #but it started to feel draggy #so separating it into two parts might help?

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royalcordelia · 4 years ago

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Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Note: Much love to @withlovegilbert and @js589 who gave me their thoughts about this chapter. You guys rock! ♥

At first, Gilbert thought he was dreaming of feathers—silky feathers trailing down his nose with effervescent softness in long strokes. Once, twice, three times...He scrunched his nose at the tickling sensation, unwilling to move away from whatever warmth he was encased in. The feather smoothed over his brow, trailing down in deliberate slowness to his upturned lips.

“Gil,” a familiar voice whispered, breaking into his dreamless slumber. “I’m loath to wake you up, but I have to get ready to go.”

Gilbert’s eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks as he stirred awake. His dopey grin was sunshine in the dawn-less room when he peered down at the young lady sharing his pillow. For a moment, he could forget that just an hour from now Anne would be gone. Her fingers still caressed the apples of his cheeks, lingering for a long moment. When her touch vanished, she tried to push out of Gilbert’s arms, only to be held against his chest.

“Anne, it’s four in the morning. Lay with me awhile,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“I have to make the five o’clock train,” Anne replied softly. “Thirty minutes to get dressed. Twenty to walk to the station. Leaves me a few minutes to spare to buy my ticket and board.”

“Take a later train,” suggested Gilbert.

“If I don’t arrive home at a decent time, Mrs. Blackmore will think I’ve been killed, or worse, eloped. Even then, she believes I’m visiting a female cousin on family matters.”

“It’s not too late to elope,” he teased, his lopsided grin finding its way to her jaw. His breath was warm against the morning chill, nearly enticing enough to convince Anne to throw caution to the wind and slide back into bed. Instead, she pressed a good morning kiss to his waiting lips and moved in search of her luggage.

“You should rest a bit longer. I’ll wake you before I leave.”

“If you think you’re walking by yourself to the station, then you are sorely mistaken,” grumbled Gilbert. He dramatically swung his legs out of bed and grimaced at the cold air.

“I don’t mind going to the station by myself. You’re probably still exhausted from the party,” Anne argued, but Gilbert heard none of it.

He grabbed some trousers and a fresh shirt from his dresser, then spoke in a gentle voice, “I’ll wait downstairs for you. Take your time.”

When he was gone, his essence still lingered about the room in the way it smelled and felt. Lovingly, she caressed the soft surface of his quilts, then the smooth wood of his table and dresser. The mirror hanging on the wall had already collected a few month’s worth of dust, but instead of wiping it away, she drew a heart and labeled her initials with her pinky. There might never come another time she could return to the comfort of this room, and as she crossed the threshold, she gave it one last indulgent look.

By the time she was presentable, Gilbert had cracked open one of his textbooks, reading it with sleepy eyes. When he heard her footsteps creak down the stairs, he gently closed the book and smiled wistfully. Anne fell by his side, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t keep Queen Anne away from the island too long, can we?”

Gilbert was quiet the entire walk to the station. Any light topics Anne tested out failed miserably to lighten his mood. He met each of her hopeful smiles with unconvincing attempts of his own, every time turning his face away to the street lamps. The sky was still obsidian in the fresh hours of the morning, unpleasantly starless and cloudy, making Anne glad Gilbert had insisted on accompanying her.

He waited on the platform as Anne purchased her ticket, shoulders slumped. With the ticket in her purse, she came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Anne’s heart dropped when his heavyhearted eyes met hers. His strong facade had finally fallen, leaving a troubled frown unveiled.

“Gilbert?” Anne asked gently. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what was wrong, unsure if she’d be able to leave if he told her. Gilbert’s gaze fell down to where she was reaching for his fingers.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he admitted. Despite the bitter taste in her mouth, Anne schooled her features and nodded in encouragement.

“That’s okay. You can tell me now.” She meant it.

Behind him, a high whistle resonated within distance as the train slowly screeched began to screech to a halt. Gilbert caught Anne looking over his shoulder and a flash of panic washed over him. He followed her gaze where a handful of tired passengers boarded the train, but when he felt a soft caress touch his cheek, he whirled back to Anne.

“Go ahead,” Anne prodded gently.

“I really miss you,” he confessed breathlessly. Anne scrambled for something to say to ease his heart, but he rambled on before she could find the right words. “Bash asked you to come because he figured out how homesick I’ve been. It was never so bad because I’d always traveled to escape the realities of home. But now, with Bash and Delphine in Avonlea, and you in Charlottetown…”

Anne’s stomach twisted. “I...had no idea.”

“I tried really hard to hide it in my letters,” Gilbert muttered. “But one of them to Bash was too vague. He made me tell him what was wrong.”

“I should’ve been able to tell,” Anne lamented.

“No, Anne, I made sure you wouldn’t be able to tell. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got too much going on.”

Anne felt like she was caught in the undertow, floundering desperately for something to say that would take the cracks in his heart and mend them instantly. Yet she knew that nothing she said could change the fact that in a few moments they’d begin another month and a half of painful separation. She wished she had thought to bring a token of home, anything from the island that she could’ve stuffed into her luggage. All she had was a parting embrace, one that she wrapped around him like an old heirloom quilt. As Gilbert’s desperate arms came around her, she hoped that her warmth would linger enough to give him the strength he needed to see his heartsickness through. Anne could feel Gilbert’s breath on her throat as he heaved a sigh of relief, dissolving into her touch and allowing her to hold him up.

“Remember what I said, alright? You’re intelligent and brave. You’ll get used to life here. If last night was any indication, you already have,” she said, determined and kind.

He nodded against her shoulder, running his fingers over the softness of her hair with tender reverence. Behind him, the train master gave her the Time’s Up glare.

“I have to go,” Anne lamented. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut.

Instead of asking her to stay, as he so desperately wanted to, he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Alright.”

A month and a half suddenly seemed like an insurmountable mountain, the end of which was deathly out of reach. Even though her limbs were weary with lack of sleep, she found the strength to pull away from him to memorize the lines of his cheeks and jaws. She’d never forget the way he looked the day she met him, or the day when he first kissed her, but she wanted to burn today’s Gilbert into her memory and save it for days that were stormy and punishing. Gilbert seemed to be doing the same.

Ever so slightly he tilted his face to her, and she met him, crashing a month’s worth of kisses to his lips until the feeling of it was unfading. His hands were under her cheeks, holding her to him until he had tasted enough of the sunshine on her lips to hold him together.

When they broke apart, Anne leaned down to grab her carpet bag and gave Gilbert one last beaming smile.

“How’s two letters a week sound?”

Gilbert let out a chuckle that was rough with stifled tears. “That sounds perfect.”

She took one step away, then two.

“See you at Christmas.”

“Safe travels.”

As she boarded, the door closed behind her blocking away the fresh air for the duration of her day long journey. When she found her seat, though, she found Gilbert was still there, watching and smiling.

Anne watched her beloved until the sight of him turned into a silhouette of shadow against the train station. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but hope sparked in her chest as Gilbert heaved a sigh and stepped off the platform with a renewed strength in his shoulders. She imagined him trailing up the Toronto streets like they were Avonlea hills, sheltered in warm dew and residual moonlight. And then, she fell asleep.

It was the last days of November and several love letters from Anne later when Gilbert began to feel like he could actually imagine a future for himself in Toronto. It could never be a permanent future, but it seemed less daunting to imagine another four years in the city—maybe even seven if he wanted to obtain his licensure here. It also meant that he decided to stop living like each day was a battle to survive until Anne and Bash’s next letters arrived. He would have to start doing things here that he liked and turn this loud, boisterous city into a home away from home.

Gilbert went to explain all of this to Dr. Sullivan, who bid him to sit in a stiff leather chair upon seeing the young lad in the doorway. November had brought with it many dreary days of cold and early snow, but today the sun made a much needed reappearance. It filled Dr. Sullivan’s office through two small windows, drowning away the light of a small electric lamp.

“I bet you caught a few perplexed stares on your way here, a medical student wandering the humanities hallway,” Dr. Sullivan teased. He pulled his glasses from his nose and folded them into his breast pocket, peering at Gilbert curiously.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I was wondering if I might beg your help for something?” Gilbert replied, dropping his leather bag onto the ground beside him.

“No begging will be necessary. Your visits are always welcome. Besides, I’ve been marking freshman essays for nearly two hours and could use fresh company. What has you on the wrong side of school?”

“When Anne was here in October, you told her about the Women in Literature class you’re offering next semester. I wanted to add it to my class schedule, but the registrar refused. She said the class is already full, and even if I got you to sign me in, she’d refuse to forward the application to the dean of the humanities college.”

“That’s absurd. Did she give a reason?”

“Only that with fifteen medicine and biology credits, the last thing I’ll want to do is spend my nights reading George Eliot and Jane Austen.”

Dr. Sullivan leaned back in his chair.

“She does make a valid point. The class is a lot of reading—one or two texts a week. Emily tells me you’re already studying more than any other student she’s had. Are you sure you’re prepared for the extra coursework?”

“Anne is back home taking on two fields of study. What good would I be if I couldn’t handle one extra class? I’m determined to do it. I only came because there’s the matter of the class being full.”

“And Miss Eaglen in the registrar’s office taking your fate into her own hands.”

“That too.”

Pushing himself back from his chair, Dr. Sullivan ambled over to his filing cabinet and pulled open a raggedy drawer. He retrieved a stack of type-written pages and turned them toward the sunlight so that he might see more clearly.

“The class is indeed full, but half the seats will be free by the time we finish introducing the syllabus. If you come on the first day, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll speak with Miss Eaglen.”

Gilbert blinked. “Pardon, did you just say that half the class is going to withdraw?”

Dr. Sullivan didn’t look up from his roster. “I did.”

“People can’t hate reading that much.”

“No, but they can and will despise a black professor enough to drop the class.”

Gilbert’s face fell. He couldn’t imagine being accepted into the University of Toronto, only to reject a member of its faculty based on such...asinine prejudice. A faculty member with a PhD, campus wide acclaim, and a kind disposition, at that! How could anyone claim to have gotten the fullest extent of their UofT education if they closed off their minds and only listened to viewpoints of people just like them?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a student so upset on my behalf,” noted Dr. Sullivan, interrupting Gilbert’s mental tirade. Gilbert looked up, only to feel his cheeks locked in a tight scowl. He straightened his chair, expelling his frustration with a small sigh.

“It just hits a bit close to home.”

Dr. Sullivan sat back down at his desk, waiting patiently for Gilbert to elaborate.

“My entire family is black,” Gilbert clarified softly. “My brother, my niece, his mother, my late sister-in-law, her son. It’s not the same, but it breaks my heart to watch them struggle in my hometown, the home that I shared with them. I had hoped that the cruel behavior they encountered could be blamed on the small-town mindset of our community. I didn’t expect to cross the country and find it here in the city too.”

“Every corner of the world has its own brand of enmity and unfairness. You won’t be able to escape it. You could take your brother and his family across the Atlantic and you would find this to be true.”

“I have,” Gilbert chuckled bitterly. “The states, Cuba, Trinidad, Spain. And you’re right, in each country they looked at Sebastian like he was living on the wrong planet.”

“I know the feeling.”

Gilbert wasn’t sure what to say next. Part of him wanted to apologize, but for what? What was some fruitless apology supposed to fix after a lifetime of enduring injustice? It wouldn’t make Dr. Sullivan’s students stay, it wouldn’t make it easier for Delly to go to school, it wouldn’t erase a lifetime of service from Bash or Hazel.

He shook his head. If Anne was here, she’d know what to say.

He must’ve looked particularly defeated, because Dr. Sullivan only smiled and said, “Alright, Gilbert. How about a proposition?”

“A proposition, sir?”

“I propose an independent study. You’ll complete the same assignments as your peers, but will report for class with me in my office twice a week. You’ll have to come prepared with topics for discussion and you won’t be permitted to cut class. And no asking Anne to summarize the books for you. You must complete all the reading yourself.”

When he was done, he extended a hand across his desk and waited for Gilbert’s approval.

Gilbert only had to ponder his options a moment before a grin blossomed on his face. He shook Dr. Sullivan’s hand more excitedly than was permitted for a gentleman and said, “Yes, I think that arrangement sounds wonderful. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t worry about the registrar. She’ll only change her mind with your advisor’s approval, but I’m sure Emily will be more than happy to give it.”

Hurriedly grabbing his things, Gilbert clutched his bag to his chest.

“I’m thrilled, sir. Thank you again.”

Dr. Sullivan chuckled, sliding his glasses back onto his face and leaning forward over the stack of freshman essays before him. As Gilbert rose to leave, he called out, “Gil, one more thing.”

Gilbert paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“What’s the real reason you wanted to take the class?”

The lad shrugged. “You know I love to read.”

Dr. Sullivan was not wholly convinced.

“And?”

“And it’ll give me something to talk to Anne about in my letters,” he confessed. Dr. Sullivan threw his hands in the air and Gilbert let out a loud laugh. “She’s an English major, I have to stay on my toes! But I really do like to read, I promise!”

“You better. You’ve got a lot of it next semester!”

There was no other explanation, except that she was in trouble—so much so, that she was about to be reprimanded by the oldest and sternest professor in the entire English department. Professor Wood was due any second and would no doubt deliver a fierce verbal lashing. Why else would this particular group of schoolmates be summoned into this dim classroom so late in the day? Anne scanned the room, counting three faces that she had...stated an opinion at. Sternly. Perhaps a bit loudly. It had only been a matter of time before her classmates banded against her and the day had finally come.

But who could blame her? It had long been established that Anne was anything but timid and demure, so certainly if they said obtuse things in class, it had to be someone’s job to correct them. If her professors were planning on merely nodding and humming “Hmm, yes, interesting point,” the task would just have to go to her.

“Do any of you know what this is about?” murmured Janie Paul, the only person in the group Anne hadn’t corrected in class. Mostly, though, this could be attributed to the fact that Janie Paul rarely said...well, anything

“We all know what this is about. Or who, ” lamented another classmate.

Four sets of eyes slowly turned to Anne, who leaned against one of the desks with crossed arms.

“It could be about anything!” argued Anne. “Unless you all have been conspiring.”

“Oh please,” scoffed Anne’s worst nemesis. “Like we’d even need to. I bet right now the entire faculty is gathered in the conference room deciding whether or not they want to allow you to remain enrolled at Queens. We’re only here because they want witnesses.”

“That’s preposterous!” Anne snapped.

“Why? You’re a disturbance to class and detrimental to the distinguished education we’re supposed to be receiving.”

“Having a bright mind and a quick wit is not a detriment, Georgie Beckham. Nor is having your opinions challenged. In fact, I’d say it’s rather good for you.”

Anne wondered that there were many things that would do Georgie Beckham some good. A change of heart, a swift kick to the behind, a bath. He was a shortish young man with flat yellow hair that stuck his head with sweat, grease, and dirt. The bottom of his chin was tan from always walking around with his nose pointed up, and he glided about as if he were Queen Victoria herself. Anne had decided with a fury that of all the disagreeable people she’d met, Georgie Beckham was by far the worst. She hated him more than she hated Gilbert the first time she met him, and Georgie wasn’t nearly as handsome or charming.

Georgie’s snobbish nose crinkled when Anne spoke, as if her very essence smelled too strong, like stale perfume or a full garden.

“When they kick you out of Queens, you’ll have to get married to escape ruin and there’s no way you’ll find someone who’ll want you,” he sneered.

For the briefest of moments, Anne wondered what would happen to her if Georgie was right. She supposed she wouldn’t have the money or credibility to attend a different school. Instead, she’d just help on the farm until Gilbert graduated college, then they’d get married. For an even briefer moment, Anne pondered what it would mean if Gilbert decided not to marry her. Such imaginings were too painful, and she pushed aside her doubt.

“I suppose I’m fortunate you’re full of hot air, then,” Anne stated bitterly.

Just then, the classroom door swung open and in walked Professor Agnes Wood, a creaky woman of ninety who still had the energy to teach British Classics and Senior Shakespeare twice a day. Upon stepping into the room, she sensed the restive atmosphere and gave Anne a wary look.

“Stirring trouble already, Miss Shirley?”

“No ma’am. We were just anxious to uncover why you’ve called us all today.”

“All will be revealed presently. Take a seat.”

The five wary students did as they were told, Georgie taking the seat furthest from Anne. Professor Wood moved to the front of the class, commanding attention in its rawest form with a domineering scrutinization.

“Thank you all for arriving in a timely manner. I’m sure receiving this summons has made you curious to the reasoning.” She paused, as if waiting for nods of agreement, but was met with five frightened faces—one especially freckled and pale. To prevent further trepidation, she continued.

“It is my pleasure to inform you of a potential opportunity that has befallen you. You five have been chosen from the entirety of the Education program’s long list of pupils. As you know, Queens is a traditionally education focused college. Many of Canada’s greatest educators have earned their teaching certificates within these walls, though the best of the best were granted this offer. Anne, you look as though you’re a second from keeling over.”

Anne’s head snapped up.

“Oh, I’m just full of suspense,” she admitted eagerly. “Please, continue!”

“Two of you will be granted the opportunity to assist real teachers in their classrooms for the duration of a month. As student teachers, you’ll be expected to aid the instructor in their daily lessons and perhaps lead a few exercises yourself. The assignment is planned for September of next year, however the application process may take some time. The chosen candidates will be announced finals week in May. ”

“If we’d be teaching in the fall, won’t that put us behind in credit hours?” the classmate at Anne’s right asked. Anne rolled her eyes. What were credit hours when there was real actual teaching to be done?

“As a full time hands-on assistant, you would be granted nine credits of your recommended fifteen. Your remaining two classes would be completed via correspondence until you could resume them October 1st. Though only two of you will be chosen, the rest of you needn’t fear. Other opportunities may arise in the coming years and you all are model candidates. I’m sure you have questions, however, and I’ll endeavor to answer them.”

Questions exploded out of the students the way volcanoes erupt after years of boiling. Yet, of the students bursting at the seams with questions, there were two who remained painfully silent. Anne was one, lost in the whirlpool of her thoughts. But in the madness, she realized with narrow eyes there was one more person who was just as quiet and determined as she was—Georgie.

My dear man, who is here with me in spirit and heart,

I would like to begin with a disclaimer: Your last letter had me blushing as much, if not more, than you surely intended. I see through your little tricks, Gilbert Blythe, and let me say, I delight at turning to mush upon reading your words. I will acknowledge them in due time, but first, a matter of utmost importance.

I. HATE. GEORGIE. BECKHAM. I can’t recall if his name has snuck its slimy way into one of my letters before, but here it has made a most unwelcome appearance. And yes, I know hate is a term that Marilla would reprimand me for, yet it cannot and will not be denied that he is the worst person I’ve ever met. Gilbert, I cannot emphasize this enough. I know that in the past, I have not been an excellent judge of character of the male sex, but Georgie has done more than tug my braid and call me carrots. He’s bitter towards women, worships himself in class, and once, I heard him say the most atrocious things about the people of the Bog. Billy Andrews has met his match. And worst of all, Gil-est of Gils, we’re competing for the same student teaching position!

I see I am getting quite ahead of myself. Allow me a moment to compose myself. There.

I have been chosen along with four other students to compete for an opportunity to assist a teacher in an actual school. Professor Wood even thinks that if our progress is satisfactory enough, that we’ll be permitted to lead exercises all on our own. Think of how much I could learn, how ahead of my classmates I’d be! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, a bona fide teacher! Or, very nearly one!

Of course, there is the chance that Georgie could win the other slot if I receive the first. Oh, this troubles me almost as much as if he were to get the position instead of me! I would fail at the assistantship miserably if he were there, always criticizing every little thing I did. It can’t happen, Gilbert!

It isn’t entirely up to chance. I’ll just have to work very hard to put forth the best application Queens has ever seen. It’s quite involved too—essays, interviews, observations of my character. I’ll have to be on my very best behavior from now until May. Oh, and could I send you my first application essay? I’m writing about integration of community and its positive impact on children. I know you have plenty of reading of your own, so please don’t put yourself out.

Now! That is quite enough about schoolmate nuisances. How are you, my darling love? I’ve had the most peculiar feeling that you’ve had a very pleasant week since your last letter. Is that because Christmas holiday is very nearly upon us and it’s a mere fortnight until we’ll be reunited? That means we have precisely one week to devise our disguises, and I don’t mean fake mustaches and hats! My brand of deception is the flirtatious sort, involving carriage rides with you and promises to Marilla to not wander from Lover’s Lane. Except! We’ll wander off the road and find a place where even the most wandering eyes cannot amble. The falling snow will cover the evidence and I will have some much needed quality time with my ever-captivating suitor. How many kisses shall I reserve for you?

Oh, how easy it would be to spend the rest of the evening writing the world’s longest letter to you. Ten pages on the sweetness of your eyes, another twenty on how divine it is to be wrapped in your warmth, tucked tightly into your arms. Instead, I must direct the vigor in my hand to many drafts of this application essay and begin planning on the second. When the application process is over in May, I’ll have all summer to venerate every ounce of you. And remember, sweet one, I don’t do a thing half-way.

So for now, I’ll sign off. As always, I miss you dearly. I feel like Mr. Rochester did when he thought Jane was going to leave him. If I tug this cord around my rib, will you feel it in Toronto, tugging on yours? Are we still connected in heart, mind, and spirit? I believe we are.

Reader, I love you.

Anne

The two weeks until winter holiday passed with surprising ease. The winter sun, which had gained a habit of suspending over the sky for long hours at a time, seemed to make the days pass at a bearable rate. Anne was relieved to find that finals week wasn’t nearly as dreary as the sophomores had cautioned. She studied long hours by her window, and found her concentration honed to perfection under a bright sun. Exams came and passed, and though she was confident she’d championed them all, she couldn’t feel complete freedom until she was home at Green Gables. When the Carmody-bound train screeched off toward home, Anne leaned her head on Diana’s shoulder and let out a soft sigh.

“Tired, Anne?” asked Diana, leaning her head onto Anne’s hair.

“A bit. That sigh just now was one of relief. American Literature and Geometry may distract one from the strains of homesickness, but college is nothing compared to being home.”

“I daresay I could weather any sort of sickness if you were beside me. I’m so glad I’m only taking a forty minute train ride and not a forty day trek across the ocean.”

Anne hugged Diana’s arm, bringing Diana’s piano-playing fingers to her lips.

“If you had gone to Paris afterall, I’m certain I would have perished. Now we have all month to revisit our old haunts and relive at least some of our youth.”

The train pulled into the Carmody station, pulling Anne out of her light sleep. The world outside moved by slowly as Anne nearly leapt across Diana’s lap to look out at the train platform. Among the many faces of the waiting and leaving, Anne couldn’t find Matthew or Marilla. For a moment, she wondered if something had gone wrong.

“Is that Sebastian?” asked Diana, pointing to the far left of the platform.

Anne grinned. Sure enough, there was Bash talking to Diana’s father in a casual manner. He wore two scarves wrapped around his face to block out the chill, but his eyes were unmistakable and he was wearing one of Gilbert’s old hats.

Knocking into some disgruntled passengers, Anne scurried as fast as she could off the train and over to Bash. He caught sight of her fiery hair among the crowd and stopped what he was saying mid-phrase.

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes! Hello Anne,” he beamed.

Before she could think better of it, she jumped into his arms and pressed a warm kiss to the scarves over his cheek.

“My, Anne, you’re still quite public about your displays of affection,” commented Mr. Barry, who glanced nervously around the scowls of nearby travellers.

Anne pulled back with a chuckle.

“I do wish you would forget you ever saw that, Mr. Barry. Your family is far too close to Rachel Lynde.”

“Forget what?” Bash asked, but Anne waved her hand.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Before he could argue, she picked her bags back up. “Are you here to pick me up?”

“If you need a ride back home to Green Gables, I’d be happy to drive you, but no, I’m not here for you. I’m here for Gilbert.”

Anne’s heart jumped into her throat.

“Gilbert isn’t due back until tomorrow,” she stated, failing miserably at getting her hopes up.

“No, you weren’t due back until tomorrow. Gilbert was due back today.”

“But I marked my calendar as soon as I got his letter. I wrote to Matthew and Marilla and told them today.”

“Your calendar can say what it wants,” interrupted Bash. His gaze drifted behind her shoulder. “But he’s right there.”

And he was. Marching through the crowd was a young man with snowflakes crowning his curly head and a blush from the chill on his dimples. The sight nearly brought Anne to her knees. She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to see him, how dull the ache in her heart had grown in their separation. Because she was a woman of very little self-control, she cried out his name above the noise of the chatter with a delighted laugh. His attention snapped to her and he fumbled with his bag. He matched her elated laughter, walking as fast as he could through the web of people.

Anne shoved her bag into Bash’s arms and rushed to meet Gilbert halfway. When he was within reach, he made no greeting or polite salutations. Instead, he grabbed her face in his hand and kissed her in front of the entire train platform. He must’ve felt Anne’s knees go limp the second he tasted her bottom lip, because he quickly wrapped his arms across her back and held her to him.

Claiming the last bit of propriety she could, she pushed his chest and forced herself away. Gilbert chased her mouth, but sighed in resignation when she stuck a finger to his lips.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” he murmured. His breath was steam against her lips. “You just grow more beautiful by the day. Takes a lad off guard after a month.”

“Gilbert!” Anne chuckled, blushing.

“I’m serious! Exponential growth. I may have to start writing my will.”

“Stop,” reprimanded Anne, but her sweetheart knew she meant quite the opposite. “Where did you come from? You said you were coming tomorrow!”

“No silly, I said I was coming today . You were the one arriving home tomorrow. I even planned to pick you up tomorrow and surprise you.”

“Well, you’ve done that.” She froze. “Does that mean we were on the same train the entire time and didn’t know it!?”

“Probably,” Gilbert smiled, kissing her knuckles and earning a few doey-eyed looks from passing ladies. “We have nearly all month to make up for it. I was promised disguises and secret trysts.”

“So far, you’re getting the secret part all wrong,” a voice chimed in behind her. Gilbert rolled his eyes at Bash’s knowing smirk. “Say Anne, is this what Mr. Barry meant about public displays of affection?”

Anne tugged his hat clean over his eyes, making Gilbert laugh so loudly, someone beside him jumped.

“Alright lovebirds. Let’s fly on home to our separate nests.”

Christmas was a jubilant affair, the Cuthbert dinner table growing by two members for the third year in a row. When they realized that Hazel and Elijah filled the last available seats, Anne wondered who would stumble into their family this year and if they’d mind sitting at a separate table. With a child, a courting couple, and a spirit of song, the home was filled with endless moments of noise and joy.

But there were some quiet moments too. Anne and Gilbert particularly tried to find as many as they could together, but often found themselves interrupted by the baby, or by Bash’s halfway-intoxicated teasing. By the end of the night, Marilla had sensed her daughter’s frustration and taken her guests into the parlor where they could sit and converse. Anne stayed behind, tugging on Gilbert’s sleeve before he could walk away. He turned around, a happy smile on his face.

“Could you give me my Christmas present now?” asked Anne timidly. Gilbert’s face fell. His eyes focused on the cracks of the floorboards, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Anne’s disappointment.

“Love, I uh...I spent all my money on the ticket to come home. I don’t have anything for you, I’m sorry.”

But Anne shook her head, lifting his chin with a few fingers.

“I didn’t mean like that. You know I don’t mind if you don’t have anything for me.”

“Then what—?”

Anne revealed a small velvet pouch from behind her back. For a split second, Gilbert’s heart stopped, thinking that it was his mother’s ring she had found. For an even shorter moment, he realized if she had asked him to propose to her, he would’ve done it without hesitation and against his logical reasoning. There was a different swell in his heart when he realized that the bag didn’t contain a ring, but several scraps of paper.

“My letter,” he realized.

“What’s left of it, at least. Do you suppose you could piece it together?”

“I think so. I may not remember it verbatim, but the sentiment is impossible to forget.”

He spilled the torn pieces onto the floor, sorting out the words so he could see them all at once. Anne waited eagerly at his side, her hand finding its way to his hair as he began to piece the fragmented letter together. She tried not to read it as he strung sentences together, but couldn’t help but be drawn to the words affection and desire.

“You really did a number on this, didn’t you?” teased Gilbert when he found a few pieces with a stray letter or two, detached from its word.

“Whatever you did to mine must have been worse since it disappeared. ”

“Hey now,” protested Gilbert, smirking. “I can hardly be held accountable for something I never knew existed.”

“For all you know, it was on the bottom of your shoe, trekked into the mud and turned to mush.”

“Good thing it was short enough for you to remember it. I keep the second edition in my bedside drawer and read it before I go to sleep.”

“ Second edition ,” laughed Anne, leaning her head onto his shoulder. She turned her face to the fire and let her eyes fall close. Beneath her, Gilbert’s arm moved as he worked.

She didn’t realize she was dozing off until she heard, “Alright, Anne-girl. All finished.”

Rubbing the haze of sleep out of her eye, she peered down at the letter before her. It was pieced together like a puzzle with careful consideration with a few pieces from the sides missing. A quick surveyance of the writing told Anne that she’d still be able to read it, regardless of its inadequacies. With a steadying breath, Anne moved her eyes to the first line.

Dear Anne…

Gilbert pressed his lips to her cheek and rose to move into the other room.

“Where are you going?” asked Anne. Gilbert gave a small smile.

“I mean every word of that letter, but I’m still a bit embarrassed to watch you read it.”

“You write me love letters all the time.”

“But this is the love letter. The first. The ones I write you now are different because I’m well-practiced at it. But this one...It was my swan song, a last move of desperation.”

Anne bit back a smile at the rosy blush on his cheeks, anxious to finally see what all the fuss was about. Still, she mustered up some patience and reached out her hand to him.

“You don’t have to watch me read it, but stay by my side, will you?”

She didn’t have to ask twice.

“Alright.”

He settled beside her and took her hand in his, running his fingers over her knuckles and palm while she read. Anne, on her part, moved through the letter deliberately, letting every wash of emotion and reaction occur as it would. She’d forgotten that Gilbert had been longing like this, even during his involvement with Winifred. When the words became blurry with her tears, Anne read even slower and squeezed Gilbert’s hand in hers.

With love, Gilbert.

She read that line over and over, before glancing briefly at the postscript, then bringing herself back to the top. Gilbert was quiet beside her, letting her take the time she needed.

Anne’s heart was heavy, saturated with a million feelings she couldn’t quite place. She wanted to say that things would’ve been so different if she had read the letter when she’d found it in the first place, but what-if’s didn’t do her any good now. What mattered in this moment was the person beside her, whose heart seemed to beat in unison with hers. A person who was waiting very patiently for her reaction, even though it left him vulnerable and exposed.

Her palm found his face, and the second his hesitant eyes found hers, she kissed him slow and purposeful. She hoped that he could feel the years of longing she’d felt for him, the same way her letter had made her feel. She hoped it was electricity from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet, long and warm, unrelenting in its ensnarement.

When they broke apart, Anne gazed intently down at her hazel-eyed boy and counted the freckles around his nose. His heart was wide open on his sleeve, in his eyes, in his smile—beating and loving on full display without fear.

“I feel like I could take on the world just now,” Gilbert admitted blissfully.

“There’s two of us now,” noted Anne lovingly. “Let’s do it together.”

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#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #shirbert fic #tessa writes

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