#but I ultimately decided that it suited boston more

[xceanlynx]

Only Friends (2023) x Major Arcana Boston → The Tower

The Tower warns about imminent disaster that brings despair to those around it, victimized by the complete destruction and chaos. When reversed, The Tower teaches that chaos is the fuel for change and that the storm must be faced head-on, with no hesitation, for growth to happen — it's through destruction that one can repent their sins and make amends.

[audiofictionuk]

New Fiction Podcasts - 28th July 2024

The Diaries of Netovicius the Vampire Audio Book Neto is an artist first, an immortal vampire second, but for now he's being kicked out of his Beacon Hill apartment in Boston Mass. That's where we begin, but more than a year into this audio-series I can't believe the journey Neto, and me, the creator have been on. But that's a longer story than I can get into here. For now, I hope there is something in this audio-series for you. It's about vampires, but ultimately it's about recovery, from trauma, from alcoholism, even from cults. It asks: Does time really heal all wounds? https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240325-06 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f40b8e30/podcast/rss

https://media.rss.com/beyond-adventure/20240721_020725_e1afd0edec690785350fee656cfdba75.jpg

Beyond Adventure Audio RPG This is an adventure of four pirates, who seek only their own gain but seem to come together to make a crew and decide that they want more than just adventure, they seek beyond the adventure. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240126-04 RSS: https://media.rss.com/beyond-adventure/feed.xml

mandeight01 – StuVenable.com Audio Book Just another WordPress site https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20220617-04 RSS: http://stuvenable.com/category/mandeight01/feed/

The Crittalkers Podcast Audio RPG The CritTalkers Podcast is an actual play RPG podcast. The first season uses 5E Dungeons & Dragons rules but that can and will change in future seasons. You can expect to find comedy, drama, mystery and intrigue within these tales. Join Jake the DM and players Britt, Shane, and Chris as we talk a lot of “crit”, try to back it up and see how the players' actions drive the story! Features some outstanding original music and voice acting talent by co-producer Ryan S. and amazing original art and voice acting talent from Jake's wife Jennifer Millard. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240721-01 RSS: https://feeds.captivate.fm/the-crittalkers-podcast/

HINDSIGHT: THE DAY BEFORE Audio Drama The impulse purchase of an antique trunk at a Harlem curio shop alters the life of Professor John Gabriel Strasser, setting into motion a tectonic shift that drives him toward a profound – and profoundly dangerous – realization of who and what he is, and the centuries-old mission he will have to take on because of his newfound understanding. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240722-01 RSS: https://feeds.libsyn.com/519123/rss

The Corveil Cases | Historical Fantasy Audio Drama Audio Book War leaves many scars, but not all are on the surface. Victor Corveil knows this well; being severally injured in WW1 only to return with his future life and career in tatters. He turns to a mysterious school that he has never heard of in attempt to find meaning, and answers in the supernatural. Welcome to Antumbra Academy of Arcane art, where nothing is as it seems. Follow along with this journey of mystery, magic and madness as Corveil and friends he makes along the way, navigate this strange and fascinating world, and uncover the dark dangers that lie just beneath the surface. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240720-01 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f8def258/podcast/rss

Today in Adventuring Audio RPG A DnD homebrew actual play game, set in the early industrial age of the world of Tatarone. With the rise of steam and elemental technology, magic isn't the only thing that can make someone powerful in this world. A small group of Adventurers are presented with a choice, discover the mysteries of the world they live in, or keep living as they have. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20200925-11 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/1374004.rss

Lacuna: Slow Burn Audio Book Imagine working for an agency so secretive you don't even know its name—or your own. You are a Mystery Agent. You answer to someone called Control. You have a suit, a blue tie, a pair of sunglasses, and a small metal button with a question mark on it. And cigarettes. Blue City is beautiful in the way noir films and dusty cathedrals are beautiful. It is decades behind the times, more a memory of a place that no longer is... and never was, really. You've been sent here to locate the Hostile Personality. Description, age, psychological profile, and criminal record to follow. Upon apprehension of the target, a team member must [text omitted], twist the button clockwise, count to 3, and make a wish. If all instructions are followed correctly the entity will instantly be transported to the Lacuna. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240721-02 RSS: https://play.disctopia.com/podcast/rss?channel=lacuna_slow_burn

The Project Audio Drama Welcome to The Project, a collection of dystopian audio dramas reflecting where we’re at as a society and how far we still have to go. Broken relationships, hidden resentments and unanswered letters arise amid massacres, doomsdays and famines. A disgraced mother comes to terms with her son's heterosexuality, an apocalypse brings perspective to a couple’s rocky relationship, and new laws create rifts between old friends. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240723-01 RSS: https://audioboom.com/channels/5135517.rss

The Story of Captain Charlotte Audio Book A weekly fantasy adventure podcast that isn’t just for kids! Follow Captain Charlotte and her crew as they explore uncharted islands, meet unique characters, and discover the magic of their world. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240724-01 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2142862.rss

Tales of the Dead Bard Audio Book Tall tales told by a bard who happens to be a bit dead. Join Rags the Dead Bard as she spins stories of gods, mortals, and yes, even dragons, in this fantasy-anthology podcast... https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240724-02 RSS: https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/talesofthedeadbard

Evergreen Audio Drama Welcome to Evergreen: A town where the residents love big, cry hard, and never let the past die! https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240724-03 RSS: https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2385888.rss

Abridgd... Too Far! Audio Drama Fast, furious, funny and frequently infuriating to the aficionado, we present the literature’s most renowned and best-loved books in just 1,337 seconds. Leaving a hell of a lot out, making stark narrative choices, chucking in a fair amount of jokes and using audio to its maximum potential, this is a breakneck comic canter through the classics. So...like an Afternoon Play running to catch a train, the classics will be boiled down, stripped back and sped up for the enjoyment of those listeners who may know the book but will enjoy a speedy re- acquaintance with it – or (far more likely) it will be for those of us who don’t know it because we’ve never had time in our busy lives to sit down and read it but sort of feel we should. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20231121-07 RSS: https://feeds.megaphone.fm/abridgdtoofar

Shore Leave with Tom Bobbajobski Audio Drama Tom Bobbajobski's adventures as co-host on Huron City Radio's favorite shows. Over an hour of Tom's unique style lighting up the airwaves. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20210527-06 RSS: https://feeds.transistor.fm/shore-leave-with-tom-bobbajobski

Play On Podcasts Audio Drama Play On Podcasts are epic audio adventures reimagining timeless tales, featuring original music composition and the voices of extraordinarily gifted artists. This is where Theatre meets Podcast, combining the modern-day audio phenomenon with the power of live performance. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20210409-08 RSS: https://feeds.megaphone.fm/playon

Upon a Crooked Road Audio Book Upon a Crooked Road is an ongoing horror podcast. It features new and exclusive content written and performed by the creators themselves, acclaimed horror writers Tim Sprague and William Rayne. Audiobooks, audio novellas, short stories... Horror can be found in all shapes and sizes when you dare to set foot Upon the Crooked Road. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240723-02 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f3edc7ec/podcast/rss

A Casa Audio Book Em “A Casa”, as portas rangem com segredos não revelados e os corredores ecoam com sussurros do passado. Cada parede guarda histórias, cada janela revela um mistério, cada cômodo esconde algo e a escada leva a um suspense crescente. Entre, se atreva a explorar os porões esquecidos e os sótãos assombrados. Esta casa não é apenas um lugar, mas um labirinto de terrores que irão arrepiar sua alma. Nesta casa o medo é o único residente permanente. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240725-01 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f92c6420/podcast/rss

https://media.rss.com/disabilitytourbus/20240724_060734_bf1e7d55bf09bcab05415e89dc6fecee.png

Disability Tour Bus - A Radio Play Podcast by Amy Amantea & Rena Cohen Audio Drama Realwheels Theatre presents Disability Tour Bus!Written by Amy Amantea and Rena Cohen, Disability Tour Bus follows Shiloh, a young wheelchair-user, as they navigate their first day as a guide for “Funcouver Bus Tours”. Working alongside longtime employee and relentless dad-joker, Hugh, Shiloh struggles to stick to the “Funcouver” script when so much of “Canada’s most wheelchair-accessible city” is still so incredibly inaccessible. People and politics collide until a new passenger, Tess, comes aboard and offers unexpected common ground. The tour must go on! Because there’s someone special waiting for Tess at the end. At least she hopes there is... https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240724-04 RSS: https://media.rss.com/disabilitytourbus/feed.xml

Verru Good Detective Agency Audio Drama A fantasy noir murder of the week meets monster of the week. Follow the spiced out crazy elven detective Verru as he solves what he thinks to be simple crimes around the Great Desert City of Naahru. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240724-05 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f8f23e94/podcast/rss

https://media.rss.com/acrosstheborderlands/20240723_080703_54d4cc4855a78321953cf98e44347b10.jpg

Across The Borderlands Audio RPG A group of morally grey (at best) adventurers journey across the Auran Empire and beyond, using the ACKS II system. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240725-02 RSS: https://media.rss.com/acrosstheborderlands/feed.xml

The Index Project Audio Book A new media, audience participation Sci-Fi franchise that blurs the line between story and reality across film series, comic books, novels, video games, and more. https://audiofiction.co.uk/show.php?id=20240726-01 RSS: https://anchor.fm/s/f8e8a7e4/podcast/rss

[chrisbale1199]

Gucci Boston Bag vs. Gucci Horsebit Hobo Bag: Which One Should You Pick?

When it comes to luxury handbags, Gucci has always been a trailblazer in combining style with functionality. Two standout options in their iconic lineup are the Vintage Gucci Boston bag and the Gucci Horsebit bag. Each offers unique qualities, making it tough to pick between them. Let’s dive into what makes these two bags special and help you decide which one suits your needs.

The Vintage Gucci Boston bag is a classic statement piece. With its structured design and recognizable monogram pattern, this bag screams timeless sophistication. On the other hand, the Gucci Horsebit hobo bag offers a more contemporary look, perfect for those who love a relaxed yet chic aesthetic. Both bags are symbols of elegance, but their differences can make or break your choice.

The Timeless Appeal of Gucci Bags

Vintage Gucci Boston Bag: Classic Sophistication

The Vintage Gucci Boston bag is a top choice for those who admire structured designs with a touch of heritage. Its cylindrical shape, double handles, and spacious interior make it both functional and stylish. The Boston bag’s durability and iconic GG canvas ensure it stays relevant for decades, making it a favorite among collectors and fashion enthusiasts alike.

Gucci Horsebit Hobo Bag: Modern Elegance

If you’re leaning toward a more casual vibe, the Gucci Horsebit hobo bag might be your perfect match. This bag’s slouchy silhouette and signature horsebit hardware exude effortless charm. Whether you’re heading to brunch or a casual evening outing, its versatility ensures it pairs seamlessly with various outfits.

Comparing Features and Functionality

Design and Aesthetic Appeal

The Boston bag is all about structure and formality, making it ideal for work settings or upscale events. Its polished finish and minimalist design fit well with a professional wardrobe. Meanwhile, the Horsebit hobo bag embraces softness and fluidity, appealing to those who prefer a laid-back, bohemian vibe.

Practicality and Versatility

When it comes to functionality, both bags excel but in different ways. The Boston bag’s structured interior allows you to organize essentials easily, while the hobo bag’s spacious and open design is great for casual use. If you’re someone who carries multiple items daily, the hobo bag might feel more accommodating.

How to Choose the Right Gucci Bag for You

Lifestyle and Occasion

Your lifestyle plays a significant role in determining which bag to choose. If you’re looking for a daily companion that transitions seamlessly from work to dinner, the Vintage Gucci Boston bag could be your best bet. However, if you want a stylish accessory for relaxed outings, the Gucci hobo bag offers unmatched versatility.

Long-Term Value and Investment Potential

Luxury handbags are often seen as investments, and both these Gucci bags hold their value well. The Boston bag’s structured design and heritage appeal make it a collector’s dream. Meanwhile, the Horsebit hobo bag’s trendy yet timeless design ensures it remains a sought-after piece.

Conclusion

Choosing between the Vintage Gucci Boston bag and the Gucci Horsebit hobo bag ultimately boils down to your personal style and needs. Each bag offers something unique—classic sophistication versus modern elegance. If you’re ready to explore these iconic pieces, check out Bidsquare’s collection for authentic luxury bags that fit your style and budget. Start your journey today and find the perfect Gucci bag to elevate your wardrobe.

FAQs

What makes the Vintage Gucci Boston bag a timeless choice? Its structured design, GG canvas, and heritage appeal make it a favorite among collectors.

Is the Gucci Horsebit hobo bag suitable for everyday use? Yes, its spacious interior and relaxed design make it ideal for casual, daily outings.

Where can I buy authentic Gucci bags online? Online auction platforms like Bidsquare offer verified collections of luxury handbags, ensuring authenticity and quality.

How can I style the Gucci Horsebit bag? Pair it with casual outfits or boho-chic dresses for a relaxed yet stylish look.

Are Gucci bags a good investment? Absolutely! Their timeless designs and high resale value make them excellent long-term investments.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

KINDS OF SPIDERMAN NO WAY HOME SPOILERS!!!

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

Here's a brief monologue(?) For how I think Norman and Harry Osborn could be introduced into Tom Holland's Spiderman Universe.

Note: This would take place during the next Spiderman movie(which has been confirmed to be happening along with Tom Holland signing another contract). What I think will happen in the movie involves the symbiote and Flash Thompson. I will go into detail about what I think could happen.

This is loosely based off of the comics and Spiderman cartoons where Flash became Venom. Eddie Brock is still Venom in his universe, but in Tom Holland's universe, Flash is Venom.

Disclaimer: I don't know how location would work because MIT is in Boston and Peter is currently living in New York City. That's the only major discrepancy right now.

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

Harry meets Peter and Spiderman ultimately because of Flash. Harry and Flash are already best friends. They both go to MIT and get along great. In this universe, Harry and his father aren't super rich yet. They have money, yes, but Norman is just getting the footing he needs for Os Corp to grow. With big names like Stark Industries having left the world of military grade technological advancements years ago, Os Corp has a stable pathway to follow to become successful.

Since Flash would become Venom, the movie would focus a lot on him. Flash and Harry would share a dorm and would be playing video games or studying. Maybe Marvel could make their friendship go back to childhood or maybe they just ended up being dormmates and they actually became friends.

Harry would know that Flash really likes Spiderman.

One day during a fight with a public disturbance(not really a villain, just someone causing a problem), Flash would have the chance to try and talk to Spiderman. He'd be so excited because his idol was right there! But behind the mask, Peter would be very annoyed. He remembers Flash qnd wasn't particularly fond of Flash. He didn't hate him, but he didn't necessarily get along with him. He'd also be worried for Flash's safety because Flash would be very close to what little damage was being done by the disturbance. Peter would react to Flash negatively by yelling at him or saying something like "Dude, just back off!" because he was trying to solve the problem and also keep people from getting hurt. Flash wasn't helping.

Now, of course this would make Flash angry. He wouldn't stop liking Spiderman, but he would be angry and little hurt that his idol talked to him in such a way. He would eventually get over it. Harry tried to comfort his friend because he knew how much Flash likes Spiderman. He too thought Flash would get over it and didn't try to push Flash to get over it. He'd get over it.

Or not?

Because a certain little symbiote would've somehow made its way from Mexico to Boston(don't ask me how, I don't know yet. Maybe it'd be because it sensed a strong extraterrestrial energy in the Boston/NYC area). It would somehow find Flash in his dorm, still angry and hurt. He's the perfect host. The symbiote would bond with him and Flash's anger and hurt from Spiderman would strengthen. Why should he idolize that asshole? Why does he deserve all the fame when he's nothing more than another jerk on yhe street? He doesn't deserve any of it, symbiote influenced-Flash decides.

So we go through the movie, Peter would be working a lot to pay for rent, working on his web formula, working on his suit, trying to develop a friendship with MJ and Ned. He'd be super stressed out. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere in his friendship with Ned and MJ. Maybe he was slowly becoming their friend again. Maybe work was going well. Maybe he developed a new formula for his webs that made them better. Maybe things were finally starting to get better.

Then BAM. New villain appears. Peter thinks he can just handle the villain like he has handled every other public nuisance in the time between the events in No Way Home and now. He goes to stop the villain only to get knocked flat on his ass and realize this new guy is an actual threat. He doesn't know how to fight this black goo that can mimic the way he swings through the city. That can absorb his punches and webs. He ends up having to retreat from the first fight and hide because he has no clue how to fight this thing. And on top of that? Up until now, he has always had at least one other person in his life who helped him think through everything and figure put what was going on. Tony, Happy, May, MJ, Ned, he had all of them. In his last movie, he had the other two Peter Parker's! But now? It's just him. He's alone and has no one to help him solve this.

Back to Flash now. Harry would notice something was wrong before Flash truly finished bonding with the symbiote. Flash would be more irritable, more arrogant. He'd have faster reflexes and more strength. It wouldn't be until after Venom makes his first appearance that Flash would go to Harry and tell him.

"It's cool, right? Now I don't need to look up to that web slinging show-off. Now I can swing through the streets of the city. With me, we don't even need him anymore!" Flash could say. Harry would know now that something was wrong. Especially after seeing what Flash became from pictures and videos on the internet? No, this wasn't right.

"Flash, are you sure you want to do this? Spiderman is a hero. You're favorite hero." Harry could say. He'd be stalling, of course, to try and find something to call for help or to subdue Flash with. He just knows he has to help his friend.

"He's just a bug. And have you seen how much damage he has caused since je started all his superhero stunts? How many people got hurt? He's not a hero, he's a menace. And I'm gonna be the one to finally put him down." Flash could say. Although it wouldn't fully be Flash. It'd be symbiote-Flash talking, the symbiote amifying and feeding off of Flash's anger, hurt, insecurities, and maybe even his fear.

Before Harry could move to call for help or warn someone or try and knock Flash out, Flash would disappear out of the dorm. Harry would be left alone. What could he possibly do now?

Meanwhile, Peter would be going over videos and pictures on the internet trying to figure out this bad guy. He'd be slowly getting more and more irritated because he wouldn't have anyone to bounce ideas off of. It'd be a huge part of his character growth in learning how to stand on his own and work things out by himself.(this would be a major plot point of the movie)

Harry would go to MJ and Ned for help. He had seen them talk to Flash a couple of times and knew the three of them had some sort of friendship/companionship. They were by no means best friends, but they were the only other people who might know Flash as well as Harry. These two had gone to High School with Flash, after all.

Ned and MJ would be very hesitant to help, but after Harry did a little convincing and they saw how desperate he was to help his friend, they would agree to help him figure out the issue.(more likely that Ned would agree first and then MJ would agree only because she didn't want Ned tk try and do the work alone with this stranger and risk possibly getting hurt).

Ultimately, Peter wouldn't really get a full understanding of who he was fighting. He'd try to fight Venom a second time and would do better, but he wouldn't win this fight. Venom would have pinned him down when suddenly a siren would go off. It'd be such a high frequency that it would temporarily disorient the symbiote. Peter would catch a glimpse Flash and would realize he wasn't fighting black goo. He was fighting a person. Someone he had once known. The symbiote would retreat after this and Peter would be left wondering what to do now.

Skipping ahead, Peter now has a decent plan for stopping Venom aka Flash without hurting him. It's the final battle. It goes the same as the first two, but Spiderman is doing much better now that he knows how to subdue the symbiote, even if it's temporarily. He still isn't quite sure what he's fighting, but he knows it might be possible to stop it.

It's during this battle that MJ, Ned, and Harru show up. They get Spiderman's attention when he's been knocked down temporarily and is out of sight from Venom. Peter is shocked because MJ and Ned are helping him, almost like they way they used to. He snaps out of it when they start talking.

"The goo that you're fighting? It's our friend. Flash. We don't want him to get hurt." One of them could say. Probably Ned.

"Uh, yeah! I saw his face earlier, I'm trying to stop him without hurting him." Peter could say, without revealing he knows Flash.

"We think we know how to stop him." Harru could say. Peter would just now really acknowledge his presence, realizing that of course it wasn't just MJ and Ned. This wasn't like the times before, but he could work with it. He had to.

"Yeah, I'll take whatever help I can." Peter could say. Harry would then go through the plan he has. Peter might not be the biggest fan of it, but he didn't have any other plans and this Harry guy seemed sincere.(Peter would also be a but defensive because he doesn't know what Harry is to MJ and Ned).

And so, they go through their plan. They all have different "look out" points that Spiderman swings them to. He stalls a bit after dropping MJ and Ned at their location. He wants to tell them who he is. That they know him. That they were all friends. But now isn't the time.

They would go through the battle. Harry would be the most helpful to Peter.(they'd all have little ear pieces rather Harry supplied. He might have made them or he snatched them from his dad). Peter would lead Venom towards Harry and Harry would activate some sort of machine that would ring at such a high frequency, it would separate Flash and the symbiote. MJ and Ned would be charged with catching the symbiote and they would so it successfully(idk how right now).

Spiderman would catch Flash before swinging onto the roof where Harry is. Flash would be disoriented. He'd go through the whole "What happened??" speil and would be upset at his behavior. He'd try to apologize to Spiderman, saying "this only happened because I was angry at you for dismissing me." Peter would feel bad, knowing he had been the main cause for Flash's anger. He'd apologize to Flash, too.

By now, Ned and MJ would make from their rooftop to this one. They'd have the contained symbiote. Spiderman would look at it and would be very intrigued by it. Harry would jump in, saying he had access to lab equipment that could analyze the data. Him and Spiderman would unintentionally start bouncing ideas off of each other. MJ would comment on it and Peter would get flustered. Harry would just shrug, enjoying the fact that someone had similar ideas as him. Spiderman would agree to keep in contact with Harry so they could talk about the symbiote.(I'm thinking the symbiote would stay with Harry, but that's subject to change). Spiderman would then thank all of them for their help. They would all go their separate ways after that.

The ending scene would be the best part. Flash and Harry would be having a little hang out with Ned and MJ. Flash would be a bit calmer and nicer now because he saw was his arrogance and anger could do. He would by no means be a changed man, but he'd be working to be better. For him, that started with making some "new" friends. That, and Harry had fun saving the city with MJ and Ned. He wanted to be friends with them.

Since Peter would be working on just friendship with MJ and Ned, they would invite him to come to the hang out. Just them and two other people, nothing big. Peter would agree because why would he miss a chance to continue building back his friendships?

It'd be at Flash's dorm. MJ would answer when Peter knocked(ignoring University dorm security rules for the sake of the movie. Besides, Peter could have just climbed in a window). Flash and Ned would be playing a video game. MJ would go back and watch them. Peter would watch too. Eventually, he'd get up tk grab a snack and would run into Harry.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to run into you," Peter could say(headcanon that Harry is definitely taller than Peter).

"It's fine, it's a small dorm. You're Ned and MJ's friend, right?" Harry could ask.

"Uh, yeah! I'm Peter Parker," Peter could say.

"Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I'm Harry Osborn," Harry could say. Peter wouldn't react beyond maybe a smile, but his mind would be spinning.

Osborn. Like Norman? From the other Peter's universe? Was this the son that Norman had been talking about? But if this wasn't that son, did that mean Peter had his own Norman and Harry? Did that mean he'd have to fight the Green Goblin in this universe?

Whatever it would be, Peter decided then and there that he couldn't let this Harry endure the same fate at the other Harry. He wouldn't let that happen, especially now that he could make sure it didn't happen.

It wouldn't be too hard, right?

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

That's it! Let me know what you think!

[ff-imagines]

uhm this is embarrassing thing to request but,,,,,,, how bout u know,,,,,, nsfw alphabet/scenario/hcs with blobster. 👁️👄👁️. I'm sorry.

Boston lobster: nsfw alphabet

Minors dni xoxo

A - aftercare

Admittedly kinda sloppy, it doesn’t occur to him that he should probably check up on you till he’s like “oh shit humans need water” and he suddenly shoots up to grab some and come back to you lmao

If you explicitly ask you get no back talk from him, he just carries you where you need to be and makes sure you’re feeling alright.

Will be endlessly prideful if u say you can’t walk, express your soreness at your sanities risk bc he’ll bring it up for ages

B- body parts

Oh he’s got no shame to tell you he loves your ass and thighs. The type to walk by you and give you a tap on the ass while smirking to himself. Doesn't matter how much or how little you've got he’ll still ask at least once if he can fuck your thighs lmao

Does his height count? He loves how he towers over most humans and food souls alike, chances are he’s probably taller than you, and he really likes that. Sulks a bit if you’re actually taller than him lmao.

They aren’t his favourite part of him but I gotta talk about the antennae. They’re weirdly sensitive, pulling him makes him squeak, which ends with him chasing you or with him chasing you, take your pick. When he catches you he makes it his goal to find a weirdly sensitive part of your body and to tease that spot endlessly. Tickle fight ensues but it’s more like you’re suffering while he’s maniacally laughing above you.

C - cum

It’s thick as fuck and very salty, rip lmao

He likes to cum inside or on your thighs, look they’re very squishy and nice ok he can’t help it </3

He’s also obsessed with not only making you cum, but just… your cum. Amab or afab readers, he will delight in making you watch him swallow. Would also bring his hand up to make you taste yourself, grinning the whole damn way.

D - dirty secret

He’s really affected by scents. If you have a signature perfume or cologne you wear all the time it can make him unbearably horny, since the smell lingers on his sheets and on his clothes long after you’re gone.

E - experience

A fair amount, out of curiosity. Not too many times as he’s spent a lot of years in total isolation. His curiosity is a more recent development, he finds he likes the feeling but something is just missing from his hookups. Then he meets you and is like “ohhhh a relationship is what it was, damn.” Once he realizes that, and even a little bit before when he first starts noticing his internal unease, the hookups stop so he can figure out how to swallow his pride and try and ask a human out lmao

F - favorite position

He loves doggy style because it’s just so so easy to control you that way. He loves to pull you back by your arms, spearing inside you at a punishing pace.

He also would love if you were flexible enough to push into a mating press, getting right next to your ear, whispering about how close he is.

G - goofy

Surprisingly, yea! He’s actually pretty good at making fun of himself, he just doesn’t do it often and doesn’t like it when someone he’s not close to does it. He gives little teases here and there, it eases tension quite a lot.

H- hair

He doesn’t shave for shit lmao. Intense happy trail, intense amount of body hair over all, he actually prefers it that way.

He keeps the same energy with your body hair and will come out and tell you he kinda likes it if you don’t shave. Ultimately he doesn’t think on it too hard, it doesn’t bother him in the end, whatever you want, he wants too!

I- intimacy

He’s not so good at being truly intimate, it’s just not something he’s used to being. If you ever, by some miracle, convince him to let you top him, he’s actually a lot softer and it’s easier to let his feelings speak for him. He also discovers he likes getting dommed a lot but he won’t tell you that lmao

J- jerk off

Not too often, he’s either super busy or he could just find you and solve the problem in an even more satisfying way.

If he ever can’t, expect him to grab one of your shirts to press to his nose as he fists his cock, the feeling of being surrounded by you is enough to help him finish when he desperately needs it.

K- Kinks

Well, the scent thing ofc.

He’s really into risky sex, a true exhibitionist. He’s hot, you’re hot, who wouldn’t want to see you both put on a show? If it gets it into their heads that no matter how bad they want you, you belong to him, your place is right here, getting split apart on his cock, he’ll make sure the message gets across.

Huge breeding kink. Hates the idea of kids but really likes the idea of claiming your insides. He’d love to push you into the mattress and release as deep as he can go.

He’s into humiliation as well, let him tease you while calling you his sweet little whore, he'll make it worth your while.

He’d love if you let him tie you up, he’d probably get into doing fancy designs that accentuates your body in the best way. A pretty rope to tie up and dick down a pretty s/o.

Also I can’t look at his skin where he’s got that suit on and not know he’s got a daddy kink, I just can’t. He doesn’t care for anything other than the title, it’s more about power than anything else. Call him daddy in public and watch how fast you get taken to a more private area. Or, maybe a less than private area, if you’d let him.

He’s got a thing for size difference as well, he loves to loom over you, even if he isn’t actually bigger than you.

L- location

Anywhere, anytime. He’s a prideful bastard, he’ll show off his ability to get you drunk off his cock any way he can. Not only isn’t there a spot in your house he hasn’t fucked you on, there probably isn’t a place on your street either.

M- motivation

What really gets him going is seeing you when you're at your most confident. If you come to him beaming about winning an award, wearing an outfit you feel great in, even if you just say something cocky, it just makes him so proud and eager to share that confidence with you. He doesn’t want to break you down, he wants to prop you up! Tell him about how good you feel, he’ll make you feel even better <3

N- no

As much as he likes to show you off, he doesn’t actually like the thought of a third party joining in. He might be swayed if it’s someone he really trusts. He also doesn't like receiving humiliation, he’s much too prideful lmao

O- oral

Please suck him off, he’ll be kinda rough with you but he’ll be nicer if you ask. He prefers to be mean though lmao. He likes ordering you around on what to do when you’ve got his dick in your mouth, his words get more incoherent the closer he is, though.

He’s just as eager to give you head too, he treats you like a whole 7 course meal. He loves biting around your thighs before ever touching where you're desperate for him to.

P- pace

Oh he’s punishingly hard. Loves to have a fast steady pace then stop as deep as he can and roll his hips a bit to make sure you feel just how deep his dick is inside you.

There are rare days when he’s feeling soft, those days he’s slow and methodical, gripping into your hips to make sure you can’t wiggle to increase your own pleasure, he wants you to savour the high he gives you.

Q- quickies

Well, why not! So what if you’re in an alleyway near a busy street, and anyone can walk by and see you getting pounded? You’re feeling heated aren’t you? Don't kid yourself, just turn around and let him take care of you.

R- risk

He lives for it. If you’d let him he’d bounce you on his cock in a plainly public place, like a subway car.

It’s a big fantasy of his for someone who absolutely pines for you to flirt just a little too hard, you coming to him and letting him fuck your right in front of them. It fuels his pride beyond belief to show you off.

S- stamina

His refractory time is fairly low. Even if he...can? doesn't really mean he wants to. He prefers either one drawn out, long round where you’ve both been edged to the point of desperation, or a few quick rounds throughout the day.

T- toys

At first they kinda hurt his pride but then he’s like “wait I can strap them on a vibrator and just sit back and watch” and then he’s totally on board lmao.

Forcing you to sit on a chair with a vibrator he had the remote to, keeping you on the edge and smirking while you beg and snivel, having no actual plans to give into your pleading.

U- unfair

Oh fuck yea, strap in babes.

He loves loves to edge the fuck out of you, he’d drag it out for hours if you’d let him. Even better if he can tie you down so you can’t squirm away from what he’s giving you.

Overstimulation is just as exciting to him, but he actually loves it more on himself. Sometimes he’ll overstimulate himself on purpose by still continuing to buck into you even after he’s already cum, determined to chase a second high no matter how painful it feels.

V- volume

Loud groans, and he won’t stop talking. Loves to ask you questions when you’re clearly way too blissed out to answer in any sort of coherent way.

He gets a lot louder near his release, he loves to bite into your shoulder to try and muffle himself. If he decides to be bold and let you hear him, he grabs your jaw and brings his face right next to your ear. What a show off.

W- wild card

He kidnaps small items that remind him of you, not just things that smell like you. That one earring you always wear, a glove, a necklace, picks flowers that remind him of you for whatever reason, he might even go out of his way to buy things that remind him of you, keep them to himself for a while, then give it to you when he’s sure it smells enough like him. He gives your stuff back… eventually.

X- X Ray

Oh please… he spits, sweats, and bleeds big dick energy. I refuse to believe his dick isn’t big enough to make you nervous. Would have you sit on his lap and track a finger up your stomach to measure how deep his cock can go.

Y- yearning

He’s pretty likely to mold to your sexual drive. However often you need him, he’s at your beck and call. He likes to keep it closer to 2-3 times a week if he can.

Z- zzz

He doesn’t sleep all that easily at all, but it gets a little easier when he’s got you in his arms. Prefers to be big spoon, and as much as he hates getting overheated, he just can’t will himself to let go of you. It’s ironically one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had.

[classical-crap]

Black Classical Composers

I’ve been searching for lesser-known works recently, and I stumbled upon a ton of music written by composers of african descent. I was listening to a work by one of these composers on youtube and I saw this comment:

and I thought it would be a good start to just make people aware that these composers exist.

so, I am only listing black composers who have at least some works in the public domain for this post (usually means music published before the 1920s), so that way any musicians who read this can find at least some sheet music on imslp, learn the music, and perform it for others. so here’s just 10 of the great composers I found:

1. samuel coleridge-taylor: he was born in 1875 and died in 1912. he was born in london, where his mother lived, and his father was from sierra leone. he was quickly recognized as a prodigy and he went on to become a very successful composer, often being compared to mahler.

here is one of my favorite works by him, the hiawatha overture

here is his wikipedia bio, which is fascinating, and here is a link to free sheet music written by him on imslp. he was a great violinist, and he has a lot written for the instrument.

2. avril coleridge-taylor: she was samuel coleridge-taylor’s daughter and become a conductor and composer, which was no small feat for a woman in the early 1900s. however, I was not able to find much about her. I found a pretty lengthy list of compositions, but very few links to recordings or sheet music, possibly because she sometimes wrote under the pseudonym of peter riley.

I found one unlisted youtube video with some of her vocal songs, but that’s all I found.

here is her wikipedia page, and if you can find more about her (links to public domain sheet music or more performances), please add it to this post.

3. ignatius sancho: even if you’re not interested in classical music, ignatius sancho is such an important figure in black history. he was born in 1729 and died in 1780, he was a composer, actor, and writer, and he was bluntly against slavery. you can read more on his wikipedia page.

here is a recording of one of his minuets transcribed for guitar

he has a small amount of sheet music on imslp, which includes the sheet music for the minuet above.

4. amanda aldridge: her story is so cool. her father was a professional actor who was famous for playing shakespearean roles, amanda was an opera singer herself, and her siblings were also musicians and singers. amanda was particularly accomplished. she studied voice under the famous jenny lind at the royal college of music, and she later lost her voice, but she still remained a reputable teacher and composer.

it’s difficult to find works and recordings, but this video has a brief biography and performances of some of her vocal pieces.

she has only two works on imslp. I believe that many of her works are out of print, and if you can find more of her works, please add them to this post.

5. scott joplin: not exactly a classical composer, but probably the most well-known name on this list, and for good reason. he wrote fantastic music and was known as the king of ragtime, which is a genre that eventually evolved into jazz and swing. you can read more about his life on his wiki page.

here’s his famous maple leaf rag

he has tons of works on imslp, and these are a great resource for pianists.

6. chevalier de saint-georges: he was a fencer, composer, colonel, violinist, and conductor. he is the first known classical composer of african ancestry. 

here is a really beautiful recording of one of his violin duos, played by a world-class violinist.

here is his wikipedia bio, and here is a link to the limited amount of works he has on imslp. other sheet music is available here, but it’s not free. 

7. robert nathaniel dett: he was born in canada in 1882 and moved to the united states when he was 11. he got his education there and had a successful career, which included performances at boston symphony hall and carnegie hall. 

here is an excerpt from his magnolia suite for piano, probably one of the prettiest pieces of piano music I’ve heard in a while

he has a good amount of sheet music available for free on imslp

and here is his wikipedia page

8. clarence cameron white: white was a neoromantic (a genre of classical music that came about in the early 20th century) composer and violinist. his early music was heavily influenced by african-american spirituals.

here’s one of his early pieces

here is his wikipedia page, and his imslp page, which only has two works. 

9. florence price: price was the first african-american woman to have one of her pieces performed by a major symphony orchestra, and I’ve recently seen some of her works performed by other major symphonies. she wrote classical music, but it’s heavily influenced by her southern upbringing. she was also very religious, and drew upon the music she heard in african-american churches.

here is a wonderful recording of her second violin concerto, which is steadily becoming a more popular piece

here is her wikipedia bio, and a limited amount of works on imslp

10. thomas wiggins: also known as “blind tim wiggins.” his biography is the hardest to read. he and his family were enslaved to the first newspaper editor in the south who was openly in favor of southern succession. when they found out thomas was blind, they considered killing him because he couldn’t do work, but they decided against it. they later found out that tom had a knack for music. he could imitate every sound he heard, and when he was granted access to the piano, he played it every hour that he could. he was a true prodigy. he toured the states and europe performing and earned an enormous amount of money, which was not given to him. 

he also likely had autism, but at the time, it was not recognized. ultimately, he was an incredibly talented man who was taken advantage of. he wrote music that was used by the confederacy, so he was criticized by many black newspapers. ultimately, I believe he was just someone who really loved music and any pro-slavery themes attached to his music were not truly his doing. 

here is one of the beautiful piano pieces he left behind

here is his wikipedia page, and the small amount of music availabe on imslp

again, that was only ten black composers who were writing music between the early 1700s and mid 1900s. there are many more. some lost to history, others who wrote under pseudonyms and we may never know their true identities, but there are some like the ones above who simply need more recognition for their accomplishments and contributions to history. 

please add more information and links to this post!

[curiousconch]

Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 3)

Part 3: Remember when everything was different

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Aislinn, Gigi and Alex find friendship in the midst of the competition. One discussion led to another, pushing Alex to take a trip down memory lane, revealing the moment in her past where she and Gabe's paths crossed for the first time.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.7k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language. Scenes/themes may trigger trauma for some, reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Sunday, downtown New York

"Wait, can you back up for a moment," Aislinn said across Alex, who was scooping the remains of her melted banana split. Gigi was sipping her ice-cold mimosa, their brunch table full of plates with scrapes of leftovers. The sun was out and so were they, dining al fresco under the shade of a huge white parasol and the gentle breeze cooling them every now and then. It was a perfect day so far.

The trio has agreed to meet up that Sunday to discuss what went down with the Rothswell case as well as to prep for the conference Sadie had invited them to. They were on some kind of a peace pact, all of them sharing the view that pitting women against women in the corporate world is just shitty business.

Alex has enjoyed their company. They exchanged imaginary one-liners that would have made Martin frown his heart out or Beau McGraw chortle his head off. And speaking of McGraw, they all concluded that the best strategic course of action was to let Beau enjoy his moment in the sun. One day, Alex would make sure to remind him that he tried to rain on her parade.

It was a refreshing and enlightening discussion, though she will forever be traumatized with how many swears Gigi can cram in a single sentence. But the sight of a flustered Aislinn while Alex and Gigi engaged in a battle of pick-up lines with their waiter was a strong second contender.

As their drinks flowed, the conversation naturally led to rhetorical questions, now settling at why they became a lawyer. Aislinn shared first, surprisingly, stating that her knack for analysis was just a natural fit to the demands of a career in law. Gigi's answer was simple - she can leverage her eidetic memory to earn herself some serious dough, allowing her to live it up and take impromptu vacations to Bali.

Alex tried to dodge the question. She had never needed to discuss her reason of leaving pre-med behind to attend law school. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and she doubted it will ever be.

The two ladies were quick to see her attempts of evasion. But together, they finally wore her down, Alex left laughing with their shenanigans as they cornered her to tell her story. So she told them that she knew Gabe Ricci. And that it was because of him why she was a lawyer. Alex decided that revealing the truth was worth it, seeing how their jaws just dropped to the floor.

"Girl, you have to explain yourself right now," Gigi demanded, to which Aislinn seconded.

Alex snorted as she went back to skimming what was left of her dessert. "It's a boring sob story, and I don't want to turn this lovely morning into a snooze fest."

"We're not going anywhere, right Gi?" Aislinn turned to Gigi beside her, who nodded whilst sipping another glass of cocktail.

"Fine, but only if you swear this won't leave this table," she said. The two held up their hands invoking a half-smiling Alex, sensing nothing but sincerity. So she drank down her glass of bloody mary and took a deep breath, composing her tale.

"Buckle up, ladies, you're in for a ride."

**

10 years ago, in a town near Boston

Alessandra Keating had never felt more alone than she did that day.

They said she needed to just move forward. But how can she, when every day since the crash, she felt nothing but emptiness? How can she feel alright, when the only life that she knew was suddenly taken away from her?

It wasn't long before she found out that the car accident was caused by someone being reckless, by someone who thought they were above the law. Then, she imploded. No way could she let her parent's deaths be forgotten. No fucking way.

For the past three years, she invested all of herself into this endeavor. Researching, studying, choosing the right counsel, even raising funds. It was what kept her breathing, what gave her purpose. Ultimately, it was what kept her sane.

From filing the lawsuit to attending mediations, to numerous settlement meetings and colliding with every legal roadblock possible - Alex made sure to see them through. Only for everything to be decided that day - the bench trial.

One sweltering summer morning in her hometown's courthouse, Alex sat on the side of the plaintiff, with her long brunette hair tangled in waves. She let her senses wander, taking in the dark wooden panels and pews, her sense of smell invaded by the scent of old mahogany. She sealed her lips into silence, hiding her nerves by straightening the bargain khaki suit that she borrowed.

She barely held it in as her eyes travelled to the table beside them, catching a glimpse of the man that caused her immeasurable pain. With jet black hair and looking as young as her, he sat with an almost mocking expression. He was wearing a crisper set of suit, creating an illusion of trustworthiness that Alex can easily see through.

Maximilian K. Cornell. The green-eyed teenager who swerved his sports car onto the same slippery road Alex and her parents were passing through. The very same boy who got out unharmed, but left Alex's family to die in the snow. Her opponent was a slithery snake who managed to screw the justice system so many times over, just because his parents had the grease to do so.

But after the crash, the town decided they can no longer turn the other cheek. Alex's decision to sue was propelled by the support of the countless friends and families whom her parents have helped in their hour of need. But that still proved not enough.

Her mind whirled back to the proceedings, and to how every strategy, every plan of attack was being thrown out. With every whip from the defense, she started to grow impatient. As another traffic expert from her camp was dismissed, Alex just snapped inside. She leaned to Mr. Leroy, a withering man on the brink of retirement who was her lawyer, asking for them to convene outside.

"I'm sorry Mr. Leroy, but your strategies were just scrutinized and torn into pieces," Alex said in a low voice the moment they stepped out into the hallway.

"Alex, I am doing my best here. We clearly don't have the upper hand, lacking the incriminating evidence that we need," the man replied, exasperated.

"Have we dug up his previous records? I mean, why on earth would he have a sealed history? Doesn't that mean something?" she continued.

She continued to dictate her litany of better-positioned moves, but even Alex knew she wasn't getting through. So she excused herself from the conversation, hoping a cup of iced coffee will somehow mitigate her frustrations.

As soon as she came back, she found Mr. Leroy convening with a much younger man in a dark navy suit. His aura screamed "big city hotshot", albeit the exhausted look in his brown eyes. Not wanting to interrupt, she held off from approaching. However, her curiosity didn't stop her from eavesdropping.

What she heard the charismatic man say was a legal precedent that would have opened the sealed records in question. And with all the mind-boggling legal jargon, that's just about what she understood.

"Gabriel Ricci? I'm looking for an attorney named Gabriel Ricci?" a female voice from a nearby window called out, which made the young man raise his head. She saw him end the conversation abruptly, where a flustered Mr. Leroy hastily thanked him. Alex took that as her queue to approach her lawyer.

"Alex, we might be able to turn things around," she heard Leroy say.

And by some miracle, things did turn around. With her lawyer using the precedent offered by the young attorney earlier, their side gained the needed momentum to tip the scales in their favor. By the end of the trial, the verdict was out - Cornell will never be able to drive another vehicle, along with paying her a hefty amount of damages and fees.

They won.

Alex had to pinch herself before the victory sunk in. When it did, she felt an immense burden lifted from her shoulders.

After a long, long time, Alex can finally breathe.

Broken free from her nightmares, she asked herself what's next? The answer came to her almost immediately. Right there and then, she decided what she wanted to be. Like that man from the courthouse, she will become a lawyer.

Fueled by this new sense of mission, she saw a future for herself. No longer held by the past, she finally was able to move forward.

Indeed, Alex became what she set out to do - a lawyer who took on hopeless, even impossible cases and won them. A lawyer her parents would be proud of.

A damn good lawyer, just like Gabriel Ricci.

**

Present Day, at a New York Penthouse

Gabe sat in his home office clad in nothing but his white bath robe, holding a worn manila folder.

Five years ago, Gabe saw this case as his opportunity to make Robbie proud. The defendant had all the parallels with his brother - a teenager, incarcerated young, where the punishment had presumed to be too harsh. He now knew it was rightfully just.

But at that time, he was blinded by passion and ambition. He wanted to prove to himself and to Sadie what he can do. Taking on this case that was practically unwinnable would give him more power, more control over the pro bono cases he wanted to take. Actually winning this though, that proved to be his fatal mistake.

Your cockiness got the better of you again, Ricci.

His mind went to Alex. That was the direction his every waking moment drifted to nowadays. Whether he liked it or not, he'd answer some other day.

He had to let her know. If he didn't, Alex would eventually find out herself. Once she discovers that he was the one who had set this man free, she would hate him.

Gabe can't bring himself to think of that happening, of losing that chance with her, or of losing Alex's trust.

Hell, I'm going to lose her entirely if she finds out.

These realizations devastated him.

But how can they both escape the looming shadows of the past unscathed? Even he couldn't figure that out.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand on his face, reeling at his lack of options. He then stood up, slamming the open folder on his desk as he turned to face the window, simmering in his own regrets. Papers slipped out to the carpeted floor, including a full-page mugshot of the defendant.

It was Maximilian Cornell.

Author's Notes: With Sadie being shady AF, I feel like we all need some dose of female friendship right? Also, this is my HC why Gabe constantly pulls away from MC, not only because of their working relationship. Did the reveal live up to the cliffhanger? Let me know in the comments! 👇👇👇

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily   @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses

@choicesficwriterscreations

Thank you for your continued reading!

Want to be added or removed to the tag list? No problem - just let me know 😊. Reblogs are also much appreciated! 💕

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 24/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall  See Chapter 1 for summary and notes**

**Additional notes to follow in a separate post

Epilogue

There’s a bookcase in their room built by Luke Doggett that Mulder has filled with books of all kinds.  He’s glad they decided to extend the bedroom out when they did the expansion because it takes up a lot of space.  He’s also glad for the extra room because it means, while Katherine paces back and forth, he can follow behind and not bump into too many things.

Katherine stops suddenly and leans onto the bookcase.  She moans deeply and Mulder holds her from behind and rubs her hips.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Monica says.  “Just breathe through it.  Keep breathing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” Mulder asks.  “Just for a little while.”

Katherine hisses through her teeth and shakes her head.  Her forehead wrinkles and she moans again and clutches Mulder’s hand so tightly he’s sure it might break.  Monica comes over and puts her hand on Katherine’s belly.

“I think having a lie down might be a good idea about now,” Monica says.

Mulder puts his arm around Katherine and moves her to the bed.  He helps her to sit while Monica stacks the pillows up at the head of the bed.

“You’re the first husband I’ve had at a birth,” Monica says.

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine by me if it’s fine by Katherine.”

“Don’t go,” Katherine whispers to him.  

“I won’t,” he tells her.

“I need him here,” Katherine says to Monica.

“Whatever you need, you’ll have.”  Monica nods and then she helps move Katherine up to the pillows and she tells her to shift down a bit and bring her knees up so she can check the baby’s progress.

The miraculous arrival of the twin fillies is the only birth that Mulder has attended in his life.  He skimmed through one of Katherine’s textbooks on obstetrics to have an idea of what he might be in for, but he found it to be so terrifying he had to stop reading.  It doesn’t seem possible, even though he knows it has to be.

He’s never seen his wife as scared as she’s been throughout this pregnancy.  She’s been terrified of losing the baby and he understands her fears.  Every night he’s gently caressed her growing belly and whispered to the baby how wonderful the world will be when he or she arrives.  You’ll have your own cradle made especially for you by Luke Doggett.  You’ll have your own horses to play with and one day I’ll buy you a pony with a little cart, would you like that?  You’ll have all the picture books I can find and I’ll read to you every night.  You’ll have the very best, most brave, most wonderful, most beautiful, most special, most loving, most fierce, most smartest Mama in all of the world.  But, you just stay nice and cozy where you’re at for now.  Stay until the time is right, okay?

Katherine grits her teeth and then comes up away from the pillows onto her hands and whimpers pathetically.  Mulder looks at Monica who is nodding encouragingly and rubbing Katherine’s belly.

“When it grips you again like before, you go ahead and push,” Monica says.  “Mulder, why don’t you give her a nice place to lean into to help.”

Mulder scoots closer so that Katherine can lean back into his chest.  She’s breathing hard and there’s sweat beading across her hairline.  He holds her hands and then her body grows stiff and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Push, Katherine,” Monica says.  “That’s it.”

Katherine groans and then she falls limp in Mulder’s arms.  He feels the same helpless panic he felt when he was trying to help the horse drop her foal.  He knows he’s utterly useless and he can’t stand to be.  When Katherine’s body goes stiff again, he drops his head and starts to whisper the same things he whispered to Mary.

“You’re the only one that can do this,” he says.  “But, you’re strong and you’re brave and I believe in you.  You can do it.”

“Just a little more,” Monica says.  “You’re doing great.”

“Almost,” Mulder whispers.  “You can do it.”

Katherine lolls a little against Mulder’s chest and then she takes a deep breath and pushes again.  Her face grows red with exertion and she cries out before she deflates.  A different kind of shivery little cry fills the room.  Monica laughs and begins toweling off the squalling infant as quickly as possible and then passes the little bundle into Katherine’s arms.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new little filly,” Mulder whispers.

Katherine starts crying and brings the baby up to kiss her head.  She has little wispy blonde curls that Mulder runs his hand over.  The baby looks at him and he swears one of her eyebrows lifts inquisitively just like her mother’s.

“Look at those blue eyes,” he says.

“All babies have blue eyes,” Katherine murmurs.

“This blue?  They look like the ocean.”

“Well, what are you gonna call her?” Monica asks.

“I want to name her after Mulder’s aunt,” Katherine answers.

“Oh that’s sweet.  What was your aunt’s name?”

“Hortense,” Mulder answers, and then laughs at the look on Monica’s face.  “Emeline was her name.  But, I think we agreed on Emily Eliza if it was a girl.”

Katherine nods.

“Hey…”  Mulder eases out from behind Katherine.  “What day is it?”

“I heard the clock in the hall chime at midnight a little while ago,” Monica answers.  “September 9th, 1888.  She’s a seven.  She’s going to be very contemplative.”

“It’s two years to the day from when we first met,” Mulder says.  

“Only two years?” Katherine wonders.  “It feels as though we’ve been together forever.”

“Forever is ahead of us, not behind.”  Mulder smiles as the baby yawns and reaches out to touch her tiny hand.  She curls her fingers around his with a tight grip.  

↭

The year before Emily was born they took a trip to Boston with a stop in New York City to see the electrical lightbulbs that Katherine had wanted to see.  She was definitely impressed by the invention, but will always prefer the softness of lamplight to the glow of a bulb.  Of all people, she will be the most reluctant to modernize their home while it’s Mulder that will marvel at the on and off switches that bring light and darkness and later, he will never get enough of the telephone, sometimes simply picking up the handset to chat with the switchboard operator in town just because he can.

Three years after Emily is born, William Abbott, known by all as Liam, will come along.  By then, Emily’s blonde hair will have turned dark, like her father’s, but she’ll keep her deep blue eyes.  Mulder will often turn and think he sees the ghost of his sister running towards him as she grows.  Liam inherits his mother’s red hair and freckles, but his father’s hazel eyes and mischievous sense of humor that keeps everyone on their toes.

Doctor Black makes Katherine an offer that Mulder tells her she’d be crazy to refuse.  He sponsors an apprenticeship for her in lieu of formal schooling and after five years time, she receives her medical certificate.  When he retires, Katherine takes over the practice and the lady doctor that drives her own carriage through town becomes the pride of the town.

Emily will follow in her mother’s footsteps in some ways, her interest in science and medicine apparent from a very young age, but her love of animals pulls her in a different direction.  She studies to become a veterinarian.  When her husband is taken in World War I, she will come back to the ranch with her own young daughter in tow, seeking the peace and comfort of her childhood.

Liam takes a keen interest in literature and tears through all the books on his mother’s bookshelf before he’s eight years of age.  His favorite thing to do is to listen to the stories his father tells, ones he can’t quite determine are real or exaggerated, but that are always about how brave and strong and magical his mother is.

“Kids,” Mulder will say as they sit on the porch.  “Did I ever tell you about the time your mother shot a panther?”

“There aren’t any panthers in Texas, Daddy,” Emily will tell him.

“That’s because they got wind of your mother’s aim and they all packed up and moved to Mexico.”

“Mulder, you weren’t even there.”  Katherine will roll her eyes when he starts his tales.

“I had gone to Fort Worth to pick up some horses and your mother stayed behind with Pappy Melvin…”

Liam will take these stories and write them down and turn them into Fawkes Publishing House’s number one bestselling children’s series of the 1920s called Amazing Kate, about a young girl living on a ranch in the Texas plains who can do anything and everything.  He marries a suffragette he meets while tending to family business in Boston. One of their sons will pen a biography of his E. M. Abbott, sending shockwaves through the literary community and winning a Pulitzer.

When the children are small, Katherine will often wonder about her sister’s and where they are and if they’ve married and if they have children of their own.  Mulder will offer time and time again to track them down, but ultimately, Katherine decides against it.  She has made her own family here and Monica and Susannah are close enough to her to feel like the sisters she lost.  Mary Katherine Scully was her past and she has put it behind her.  She is and will forever now be Kate Mulder.

The ranch is only ever moderately successful and the need for trained horses dies out with the expansion of the railroad and the popularity of the automobile.  It suits Mulder fine and they simply become a haven for abused and neglected animals.  

Ranch hands come and go.  Trevor discovers a talent for building furniture through Luke Doggett.  Mulder sponsors their talents by starting them up with a business in Fort Worth where they form a successful partnership and their furniture is sold world-wide.  Richard announces one day that he thinks it’s about time he moves on, and then he just disappears.  Jesse and Jimmy are offered positions as lead trainers in a traveling rodeo that they hesitate to accept, but Mulder tells them they’d be crazy not to take the opportunity to travel the country.  Melvin stays with them until he passes on and they bury him beneath the magnolia tree that in twenty years time, has reached an impressive height of forty feet and blooms pink at the start of every summer.  

The years go by and Mulder and Katherine will be alone on their porch sometimes, sitting side by side watching the sunset.  Mulder will reach out and Katherine will take his hand and he’ll give it a squeeze.

“Just think where we might have ended up if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe that day,” he’ll say to her, for maybe the hundredth time since they’ve been married.  “The day that changed my life forever.”

Katherine will roll her eyes at him, also for the hundredth time.  “Any number of things had already changed your life forever,” she’ll say.

“But, specifically, if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe…”

“And if you didn’t leave Massachusetts, and if your father hadn’t sent you to live with your aunt, and if your aunt never bought you that pony for your birthday…”

“So, you agree, A leads to B, leads to C, leads to Jenny throwing that shoe.”

“I think we’d still be right here on this porch.  That’s what I think.”

“Kate, are you admitting you believe in fate?”

“I’m admitting nothing.”

Mulder will smile and squeeze her hand as she twists her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb.

The End

[sylvie-writes]

❅ Christmas Gala ❅

❅ pairing: ransom drysdale x reader 

❅ prompt: “Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?” @/coffin-prompts

❅ summary: ransom has a plus one to take to the gala, so he decides to extend the invitation to his assistant. it’s nothing more than business, right?

❅ warnings: slight age-gap, a few curse words and that’s about it.

❅ word count: 2,424

❅ author’s note: i know i have a lot of requests to write, but i needed to get the gears turning if that makes any sense. i’m trying to test the waters here. once again, i’m not going to be cranking out fics every week, but here’s me shooting my shot. the story may seem slow in the beginning, but it will pick up, i promise!

(gif below is not mine, nor do i take credit for it) 

***please excuse any mistakes***

December 24th, the night of the annual Christmas Eve Gala. Every year, prestigious and wealthy families were invited to the charity event held at the Center for the Arts in Boston. Among those who were invited, were the Thrombeys and Drysdales. Your boss, Ransom, also happened to be invited to the event and for some unusual reason, he decided to extend the invitation to you as the invite included a plus one. 

A knock on the door of your apartment distracted your thoughts from your focused typing. Standing from your seat at the table, you curiously made your way to the front. You hadn’t invited anyone over and rarely did you receive solicitors. 

Taking no time, you opened the door to be greeted by an older man, holding a gorgeous red midi dress hanging inside of a plastic dry clean bag. With furrowed brows, you quickly shot your eyes to the tag on the man’s uniform. The name of the local dry cleaner embroidered onto the pocket. 

“Delivery for (y/n)?”

Nodding uneasily you reached forward and took the dress from the smiling man who left as soon as the dress was in your hold. You held the hanger with one hand and with the other dug to see the ticket along with the Michael Kors tag. 

You only knew one person who would do such a thing, and reading the name on the receipt confirmed your suspicions.

Ransom.

There was an hour and a half till Ransom would be here to pick you up. Honestly, before you were surprised with the dress, you were contemplating not going altogether. Diligently, you finished up Ransom’s schedule for the week and shut off your laptop, running to go and get ready. 

The person staring back at you in the mirror made even you swoon. Ransom had surprised you once again by having selected the correct size for you. A flattering sweetheart neckline fell comfortably on your chest as the off the shoulder sleeves hugged you just enough to where they didn’t slide. You ran your hands over the sides of your body, smoothing the dress out. Bringing your gaze down to your feet, you stepped forward to sleep your feet into the heels in front of you. Taking one last check in the mirror, you were satisfied with the look and decided to once more head to the front door. 

Searching through the small coat closet, you rummaged through the many jackets, eventually finding your most prized possession. Practically brand new, you slipped on the tan trench coat that you had bought with your first real paycheck a few years back. Right out of college, you hopped onto this job and for the past five years, you’ve worked for Ransom. The pay was good and you couldn’t complain. 

To some, this trench coat wouldn’t be anything, but to you, it was the most expensive thing you owned as it was also the first designer piece of clothing you had ever owned and purchased. Once the jacket covered your shoulders, a knock sounded on the door. With Ransom’s usual impeccable timing, you correctly assumed it was him as it was exactly 8 o’clock on the dot. 

You opened the door to see the man out of his usual sweater and slacks, but instead wearing a suit and tie, making your mouth water. Apparently he felt the same way as Ransom’s jaw slightly hinged opened and you giggled. Taking two fingers and gently pushing it back up.

“You’re staring, boss.”

Ransom shook his head and muttered out a quick “right.”

He held out an arm for you and you latched on, the two of you heading for his car. 

Arriving, you were met with Joni’s “friendly” shriek of your name. Linda paid no mind to your entrance and her scowl made you cower into Ransom’s hold. He reassuringly squeezed your arm and walked even closer to the family. In his usual cold manner, Ransom greeted his mother and then turned his attention to his father who was currently arguing with Walt. How all of them managed to piggyback onto the perks of having the Thrombey name, you’ll never know. 

As Ransom fueled his father and uncle’s argument, you wandered off to Meg who gave you a small smile. Currently, she was trying to get Jacob to talk, but he was too invested into whatever was playing on his phone. 

With a defeated sigh you went back to Ransom, running to him like a little mindless sheep. As much as you hated it, leeching onto Ransom around was the only thing to do since you felt so out of place at this event.

For what felt like a good hour, you were on your feet and unknowingly becoming Ransom’s arm candy. You both had made your way from the family and to the crowd. Filled with unease, you downed more flutes of champagne than you could count. All you knew is that jaws were moving and yet you didn’t hear or care to listen to a single word. 

At some point even Ransom had somehow managed to ditch you and with no one else to run to, you eventually found your way into the theater. The usher politely showed you around to a seat even though they were not assigned. You plopped down into the seat, taking off those awful heels seeing as no one else was in the theater. 

You sat in the empty space for what must have been a good half hour. Save for your phone, you were extremely bored and most of all tired, already fighting your eyelids that were heavily falling. At some point, chatter fell upon your ears and you quickly blinked the sleep out of your eyes. 

A few rows over, you could spot Linda and Richard, and then as you turned your head the other way, the rest of the clan was in sight. They all came from different directions, but ultimately ended up sitting behind you. Your eyes sifted through the crowd, although there was no sign of Ransom.

You had expected he’d be off with someone by now, but for some reason a small part of you had been expecting him to stay with you. A sad sigh left your lips and you then delicately crossed your legs over each other, leaning back in the chair. If Ransom was going to leave you all alone, you might as well enjoy the free show and hell, enjoy yourself. After all, it was once in a blue moon that you got all dolled up like this and truly had a good time. 

As much as Ransom acted like he didn’t care about you, you both knew that was the complete opposite. The little things he did allowed you to see that. Sometimes he would order you your favorite meal, or make you a cup of coffee for when you arrived at his house. As for tonight, Ransom knew how much you enjoyed plays and dances, hence why he invited you. In Ransom’s own way, that’s how he showed his love, through money and such. The man was raised that way which gave him the idea that this was the only way to love. Your heart ached for him as he didn’t know that there was more to love than money. Honestly, sometimes you did try to show him that, with sweet hugs and such. Like a grumpy old man, he’d grumble and try to push you off of him, but he really didn’t try hard enough. Just like a few hours ago, when he had let you hang off of his arm, which was a sign that Ransom was slowly easing into the whole idea.

The doors to the theater were harshly shut and the sound bounced off the walls, grabbing your attention. You lifted your head to scan around the room for Ransom’s face one last time when a hand grasped onto your shoulder.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

A cheeky grin was on the man’s luscious lips and it took everything in you to not lean forward and kiss away said grin. Instead, you just crossed your arms over your chest and scoffed with faux annoyance. Ransom threw his arm around your shoulders and brought his fingers up to the side of your face. With gentle strokes using the very tips of his soft fingers, Ransom brushed some hair behind your ear. Trying not to be bothered by his actions, you decided to speak up. 

“Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?”

As the lights go down and the show begins, you see Ransom shake his head with a slight smirk. As he does so, he lowers his hand from your hair and starts lightly tracing shapes on your bare shoulder. 

“I’m offended you’d think such a thing, (y/n). Can I not just sit with my lovely assistant who I love so much?”

Ransom was whispering in your ear at this point, but you could still hear the playfulness in his voice. A quiet laugh fell from your lips and you just shook your head disapprovingly.

“No, not after you ditched her in the lobby.”

Before Ransom can apologize, the show begins and your attention is now drawn towards the beautiful opening number. 

The show goes on, and you grow sleepy. It’s not that you weren’t enjoying the performances, no they were captivating, but you were just exhausted and definitely not one wired for these high strung events. You were tired from just merely pretending to be friendly and kind around these people. They had barely turned an eye to you since your last name wasn’t from an affluent family and you surely didn’t have a silver spoon resting on your lips. Especially with the title of “Ransom’s assistant�� virtually floating over your head, the people you had met could have cared less if you were instead a dog on a leash. 

Ransom still had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his dancing fingers were lulling you to sleep. With a soft yawn, you riskily laid your head on Ransom’s own inviting shoulder. He smiled sweetly at your trust and turned his head to place a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. Although the other Thrombeys surrounded you both, Ransom didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, their heads were too far up their asses for them to even notice your interaction with the man.

You hummed in content and snuggled a bit into his side. 

Once the show ended, Ransom gently shook you awake before anyone could see you had fallen asleep. He rose from his seat first and held out his hands for you. Sleepily, you placed them in his as the man helped you from your own seat. Unfortunately, the row of seats you were sitting in was long and you had sat smack dab in the middle, meaning you’d be standing a long while. At the moment, your back was turned towards Ransom. His radiating warmth made you more susceptible to the cold air of the room as it hit your once warm skin. Ransom noticed your chilly shaking as you ran your hands over your arms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself. Wasting no time, the man hurriedly shed off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders since your back was facing him. He placed his hands on your now-covered shoulders and leaned down to quickly kiss the base of your neck. Just as you were about to turn and face him, the line before you started to move, leaving you no time to do so.

Eventually you made it back into the lobby, where neither you or Ransom decided to speak up about the events that had just occurred. He hastily grabbed your hand and led you to the family where you had assumed you’d be socializing once more. With your free hand, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, accidentally smearing your makeup and internally groaning as you did so. You were about to let Ransom know you were heading off to fix your makeup when instead you heard the man bidding goodbye to the family. 

“Ransom, where are we going?”

The man walked with determination and pulled you along with him, the two of you showing up at the coat check. The attendant reached over the counter as Ransom took the two jackets from the young man. He turned towards you and simply responded, “We are going home.”

You cocked your head to the side, confused as you thought he’d still want to socialize a bit. The night was still young as Joni liked to say and she said way more than you liked, too.

“I thought you’d want to hang out a bit more, Ransom?”

He continued walking out the door, but still held up his end of the conversation.

“I saw how tired you were and figured we should head out before it got any later.”

Stopping dead in your tracks and right outside of the building, you turned to the man with an unreadable expression. The freezing night wind hit your face like needles, yet you still stood in your place.

“Seriously? If that’s the case I could have just taken an Uber, you know. I’m not here to be a pain in your ass.”

Ransom shook his head and you looked up at him with squinted and suspicious eyes.

“You could never be a pain in my ass. Especially with all of the things you do for me.” The man looked down on you now. His eyes meeting your own. 

“First off, I would not have you ride in an Uber this late,” bringing his hand to your chin, he continued, “and second, this is what you do when you love someone… right?”

He looked almost sheepish now and you had to refrain from making some cutesy expression at his adorable face. Proud of his realization, you excitedly nodded and with great confidence, pressed your lips to his. 

Ransom brought his hands to your waist and pulled you even closer as if he could lose you by not doing so. The two of you then leaned away after some time, small and sweet smiles on both of your faces. Ransom held his hand out for you, leading you to the car and eventually to his house, where you’d spend your first night together enjoying precious time spent in each other’s company. 

taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline​ @siriuslyslyslytherin 

If I have messed up or you want to be removed, please do not hesitate to ask. Same goes for joining! 

[letaliabane]

Touch

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: MAJOR spoilers for last of us 2!!

genre: fluffyy, smuttish, quite angstyyyyyy

word count: 1.2K words

Connected to Lost Connection

(If you would like to request a prompt, please include the name of the list and the number of the prompts)

26. You’d be a great mom (Love Prompts)

57. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths (Kiss List #1)

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

I moaned softly as I fell against Joel’s chest. His breath batted against my shoulder, trembling as he wrapped his arms around my back, holding me close so every inch of our bodies were pressed against each other. 

We had escaped the duties of the day, Joel having snuck into the kitchens where I had been working and pulling me away quietly, both of chuckling as we rode away, deeper into the forest that surrounded the settlement. A small safe house was our little haven we’d escape to every now and then, to get away from the noise, the crowds, and sometimes the judgments placed upon Joel for his past or even myself. 

We’d leave it all behind, and all would be left was us two. 

I sighed softly as I felt Joel press a shaky kiss to my forehead, his fingertips dancing across my back gently. My lips dragged across his neck before pressing against his lazily, moaning softly as his tongue swiped at my bottom lip, his hips barely lifting to meet mine. 

I barely pulled away with a gasp as he grinned against my mouth, ‘Well you rode me well and truly sweetheart.’

Joel chuckled as I slapped him across the shoulder, hiding my face in his neck as he continued to press kisses across any skin he could reach, my shoulder,  my neck, behind my ear; which he knew was my ultimate weakness as I shook against him, feeling his smile against my skin. 

‘I’m so glad you pulled me away today,’ I hummed as he rubbed my back lovingly, ‘Couldn’t stand some of the women today, Rebecca was really pushing me on the whole baby situation.’ 

Joel lifted my face, his features stern. ‘Were they bothering you again?’

I shake my head, kissing him gently for his kindness. ‘I can handle them, though they do get on my nerves at times. I guess it’s just the worry that I won’t fall pregnant or if I do and I lose it again-’

‘Hey,’ Joel cuts across, holding my cheek so I wouldn’t look away, ‘We have all the time in the world, we don’t gotta listen to anyone else. And if we don’t fall pregnant, remember we still have each other.’

I sighed, eyes closing as I leant my cheek further into his touch, allowing him to press me into the sheets as he pressed kisses down my neck towards my chest.

‘I will admit ... I’m excited to see you grow,’ Joel whispers as he kisses my flat stomach, his nose grazing my skin, making me giggle at the scratchy sensation of his beard against my skin. 

I ran my hand through hair, glad momentarily at the thought of how I begged him not to cut his hair. He looked twice as handsome now, and it suited him so well. And it didn’t hurt to grab onto something. 

‘We all already know you’ll be an amazing father again, so thats nothing to worry about,’ I say chuckling, staring up at the ceiling, sighing when Joel caressed the skin of my stomach now and then. 

Joel leaned himself up on his arm, silent for a few moments as if he was deep in thought before he murmured softly, ‘I reckon you’d be an incredible mother.’ 

I couldn’t help but look up at him, more worriedly than anything else. 

‘You think so?’

‘I really do. I’ve seen the way you are with not only the younger kids but the older ones too. You know how to be on their level, and I’d reckon if we’d have any you’d know just how to raise them.’

I smile gently as I looked away from his piercing, loving gaze, only to stop when Joel grabbed my hand giving it a squeeze, ‘And if we don’t have any kids, I will love you, always. Not any less, never harm you. I will love you.’ 

‘Fuck you,’ I gasped softly, wiping away the tears that stained my cheeks suddenly. Joel chuckled, pulling me close as I curled up into his side,��petting my hair lovingly. 

FOUR WEEKS LATER

I pushed open the door, ignoring the stares I received as I dragged myself across the room before finding myself standing over the covered body that lay at on a table on the other side of the room. 

I tugged the sheet down, looking away at the sight of the bloodied, bruised, almost unrecognisable face of my lover. Every time I took it in, it made me imagine the horror he went through before he closed his eyes. Made me wonder what he felt, what he thought of-

‘Y/N, you don’t need to do that,’ I heard one of the older women, almost chuckling beneath her breath, ‘Someone else will do it, preferably someone with a stronger stomach.’ 

I didn’t reply, gripping the edge of the table painfully. 

I had struggled to fit into the settlement when Joel, Ellie and I had first arrived from across the country from Boston, but finding my place was even harder. Though I worked hard every day to find a suitable role for myself, I had Joel which allowed us to find our own little corner which we called home. 

And soon after many conversations, I prioritised nurturing my relationship with the man I had known as my travel companion and the little girl who I watched become a woman of her own making and helped Maria wherever I could.  

Pulling the sheet further down to reveal the rest of Joel’s body, I squeezed the sponge that floated in the soapy water of the bucket I had carried in, pressing it to his chest, scrubbing his skin carefully. 

I treated his skin like that of a newborn, rubbing away the dirt and blood. Tommy had already taken care of his wounds, closing the ones on his back, neck, and the edge of his forehead, so that took away the stench of fresh blood. 

As I reached his hands, I began to scrub at his fingers, cleaning the edges of his fingernails, the center of his soft palm, and the edges of his wrist. And I couldn’t help but intertwine my fingertips with his, a whimper leaving my lips at the coldness that sparked against my palm, and the lack of response to my touch. 

Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, the tears fell as I pressed it against my stomach, against the growing new life that he had filled me with, and yet had left me behind with. 

I took extra precaution with his face, dabbing at his skin than pulling or rubbing, gently removing the blood and grime that covered the handsome face I had fallen in love with. With a sigh, I leaned down, pressing my lips for the last time, nuzzling his cheek. 

‘I love you Joel Miller, and I always will.’ 

It felt like an hour passed when I decided to pull away from him, kissing his forehead one last time as I grabbed the bloodied water and sponge before leaving the room, again ignoring the stares that seemed to follow me. 

Only once I had reached the porch of the house, I allowed the bucket to fall from my grip, the water splattering across the snow along with the sponge, knees buckling beneath me as I tripped at the steps. Too tired to move, I curled up against the stairs, shaking as I sobbed into the wooden planked floor.

A/N: Okay! This isn’t the epilogue (THAT IS COMING DON’T WORRY) but I thought I’d do a collection of stories before Joel died and some after he died. I was gonna do separate stories but I’m gonna make some connected to this specific story line/couple I’ve created after Lost Connection. Hope you’ll be patient with some ideas I have cooking!

Requests are open for Last of Us Requests! You can also request with prompts just remember the list(s) and number(s) you wanna include. 

Masterlist

[copias-thrall]

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?"

[sincerelyella]

So Close - Just Give Me A Reason Part 5

Book(s): The Royal Romance & Open Heart crossover (AU)

Pairings: mentioning of past Liam x Ella (MC); Ethan x MC

Characters belong to Pixelberry; Ella Brooks belongs to me.

Song inspiration: Just Give Me A Reason by Pink

Summary: Ella was stuck in between two men, Bryce and Ethan. When she had to make a choice, she ultimately chose Ethan … but he refused. Now what?

Catch up here - So Close masterlist

A/N: Participating in @wackydrabbles​ - prompt will be in bold.

Lots of love and thanks to @ofpixelsandscribbles​ for prereading and screaming at me with your Jack Sparrow gif and brainstorming with me about this series 🙈 love youuuuu!

Warnings: angst; hinting of NSFW; insinuation of character death

Words: 1142

Greece 2012

Liam and Ella shared an entire summer, after that first day meeting on the beach, they were inseparable. He showed her all the sights in Greece that he thought she would love, which was everything. After three days of spending time together, he worked up the nerve to ask if they could be together, officially.

“This is really fast, don’t you think?” Ella bit her lip nervously.

“I do,” he studied her face. “But I’ve never felt this way, about anyone, Ella. I’ve never asked anyone to be with me, and only me.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before?” It was a lie, she thought to herself. A man that looked like him had to have girlfriends, or women throwing themselves at him.

“There have been women,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’ve never been … exclusive with anyone.”

“Why?”

“People usually want my brother, Leo, or they just want to use me someway to … elevate their status.”

“Their status? Are you royalty or something?” Ella snorted with laughter.

Liam felt his cheeks get hot. “I … no, my family is well known where we’re from, that’s all.”

“Well, I have feelings for you, Liam, and I’m not seeing anyone but you.”

His whole face lit up. “Good, I was starting to get nervous.”

The next day

The two of them were sound asleep in the late hours of the morning, his arm wrapped around her waist, legs intertwined with hers draped over his hip like an anchor.

Liam’s hotel suite was like a two-bedroom apartment; it had beautiful floor to ceiling windows, plush upholstery, a large kitchen, and a random baby grand piano in the center of the living area. He shared the suite with his older brother, Leo, who Liam described as a ‘night owl’. A loud slam of the front door startled Ella awake; Liam, completely unphased, chuckled sleepily and ran his hand up her back and pulled her naked body closer to his.

“It’s just Leo,” he murmured in her ear.

Ella sighed and settled back into his arms. “I’m hungry.”

“Mmmhmm, me too,” he mumbled and lazily started to trail kisses from just beneath her earlobe to her neck, his hand slowly making its way downward.

“Liam,” she breathed as she squirmed underneath his touch.

“I’ll give you … something to eat …”

Ella felt his arousal against her thigh and attempted to push herself away. “Don’t you start,” she hissed. “Your brother is outside and he’ll hear us.”

“That just means you need to be quiet,” he smirked down at her and easily rolled her body on top of his. In one swift move, he pushed himself inside her and both of them let out a moan.

“I can be … quiet.”

“You … liar,” Liam gasped as Ella began to move her hips.

With a small giggle, she bent down and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. “Okay then,” she mused. “First one to make a noise loses.” Ella leaned back and began to ride.

Afterward, they decided it was a tie.

Present-day

Rashad flashed them an apologetic look. “We have an early flight.”

Ethan scowled. Maybe after they leave, he’d be able to find out more about Liam and what he means to Ella.

“Oh,” Ella gave them an uncertain smile. “Okay, then.”

“I’ll be inside,” Ethan placed his hand on her lower back. “Come meet me when you’re done okay?”

She nodded and watched him walk towards the bar.

Maxwell and Rashad bid their farewell and made their way towards the town car parked on the curb. Liam stepped forward and took her hands in his.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he gave her a sad smile. “I don’t want another seven years to pass by without us seeing each other.”

“That wasn’t my doing, Liam, that was yours.” It was a low blow, she knew, but reality had smacked her in the face and she couldn’t help herself; their last time together in Greece flashed before her eyes.

“I … there’s a lot I need to tell you,” he squeezed her hands gently. “I’ll fly back as soon as I can. I just have some things to do back home.”

“Okay, be safe.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Liam leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I promise I’ll be back.” He gently ran his thumb over her bottom lip and replaced his thumb with his mouth. It was a quick kiss, too quick. But if he stayed there too long he might change his mind and carry her back to his hotel room.

“You have my number,” she whispered.

He nodded and turned to meet Rashad and Max. The car pulled off onto the street and Ella watched until it disappeared from view.

The next day

Ella and Ethan were at the hospital and seemed to be back to their normal selves. Their talk last night in the bar after Liam, Max, and Rashad left helped clear the air, so to speak. The pair exited one of the rooms after checking on their patient. Ethan snuck a glance over at Ella while she discussed her treatment plan.

“I think he’s ready for discharge, he just needs a follow up with his cardiologist.”

“Good plan,” he nodded. “Do you want to grab some lunch?”

“Sure.”

They meandered over to the cafeteria down the hall and each bought a chicken salad. Ella sat in front of the large television that was set up by the large windows and Ethan settled across from her.

Ethan cleared his throat nervously. “So, about us …”

Ella stopped mid-chew. “What do you mean?’

“I know you’ve forgiven me, Ella,” he let out a nervous breath. “But do you still have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” she nodded without hesitation.

Ethan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Y-you do?”

“Feelings don’t just go away overnight, Ramsey,” Ella gave him a small smile. “I still have feelings for you, but my feelings for Liam are also there” - she stared down at her food - “after seven years, they never left.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. Ella noticed.

“I’m sorry, Ethan.”

“It’s fine-”

The two were interrupted by a news break announcement on the tv. Words flashed across the screen and caught Ella’s attention.

Breaking news from Portugal: The King of Cordonia was reportedly seriously injured or dead.

Ella’s brows furrowed. Cordonia?

Ethan turned to watch the news report, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Reporter: We are the first news channel in the U.S. to receive this report. King Liam Rys of Cordonia was reportedly on a plane home and left from the Boston airport. That plane was the target of an assassination attempt. No news on whether King Liam has survived this heinous attack.

A loud thud sounded behind him and Ethan turned to find Ella sprawled on the floor.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV

concept: after having the house to yourself for little over a month, you are surprised by chris’ return home. awkward encounters ensue. the slowest of slow burns, the fifth part of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: shirtless evans, an almost assault with a baseball bat

author’s note: not me dropping a third part in one day… this one goes out to @tonystankschild for being so overwhelmingly supportive. thank you, and i hope you enjoy :)

You should’ve known he was home.

All the signs were there, but you’d gotten so used to living alone in the spacious L.A. residence by yourself – aside from Dodger – that it seemed almost absurd now to think of it as a shared space.

You had been watching something – one of those home invasion slashers – when Dodger had sudden perked his head, ears erect and alert. He had heard something you hadn’t just yet, and suddenly, he was leaping off the couch and headed straight for the front door, whining and howling. That was the first sign.

The second sign came after you had paused the film to better hear what was transpiring in the foyer. Dodger was pawing frantically at the base of the door, crying out. In the sudden hush of the apartment, you could hear the scrape of something metallic in the keyhole. The doorknob jostled, and a muffled slew of profanities reached your ears, even through the thick door.

You didn’t stick around for the third sign – you had already bounded to your room and retrieved the hefty wooden baseball bat you had bought when you first moved into that dingy flat by yourself downtown in one of the more seedier areas. You held it aloft with as much confidence as you could muster – poised and ready. You would later admit to maybe being a bit paranoid, given the film you had selected that night. But not right now. Right now you were in full attack mode, fight or flight.

“Who’s that, Dodge?” You whispered, heart rate spiking and forcing adrenaline through your veins. You didn’t expect a reply from the overexcited pup, but you got one in a long drawn out yowl. “Who’s that?”

The bat was beginning to feel slippery in your sweat slicked hands, but you merely adjusted your grip and clutched it tighter. Then, a click – the door opening.

With a shrieking wail of a battle cry, you swung wildly in the dark, the shadowed silhouette easily evading your clumsy attack and grabbing the bat before its inevitable collision with his face.

Suddenly, at the click of a switch, light flooded the foyer, briefly blinding you.

“What the hell?!” A Boston accent, the musky scent of something indescribable. Your heart flipped.

Allowing your eyes to adjust, you found yourself staring into the stunning – if not wide in mild panic – blue eyes of Chris Evans. He was fresh off his flight, dishevelled slightly from his drive home. His dirty blonde hair was tousled and messy, his shirt rumpled but clinging effortlessly to his muscular frame. He still held the one side of the bat in a large and rather beautiful hand, his lips twisted in a small but no less beautiful – and also incredibly confused – smile.

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” you sighed in relief when your senses returned to you, slackening your death grip on the handle. He gently – if not a bit quickly – took the bat and placed it on a tabletop nearby, before bending down and greeting a frenzied Dodger who immediately pounced on Chris and slathered him in kisses, tail wagging at a mile a minute. “I honestly thought you were a burglar.”

“Did you–” Chris was cut off by a wet lick to the face, and he struggled to reign his laughter in to complete his thought. “Did you not hear my key in the door?”

He rose to his feet, grinning, just as happy to see Dodger again as the pup did his owner.

“I heard someone fucking up a key in the door. Figured it was a lock pick in the end and decided that if I was going to die, I was gonna go down swingin’.”

You were feeling somewhat defensive – even if you almost attacked the poor man.

“Remind me to text next time, then,” Chris chuckled.

And as if the confirmation of your safety spurred it, you fell into his arms, clinging to him in a bone crushing bear hug. You deeply inhaled his scent – a scent that still sometimes lingered in the house but had overall faded into just a ghostly reminder. “You have no idea how happy I am it’s you and not Hannibal Lecter.”

Your voice was muffled in the fabric of his t-shirt clad chest as he patted you on the back reassuringly. “I think I have some idea…”

——————

The thing about having lived by yourself for so long is that you grow accustomed to a certain level of naturally granted – and overall assumed – privacy. And although it was beginning to become the case for you, it was and already had been the case for Chris.

So that was why, when morning came, you, in all your drowsiness, found yourself in the position you currently were in.

See, the mistake was almost entirely forgivable. It was an honest one. Just people being human and forgetting specific things – like the fact that other people had use of certain communal amenities, and that locking doors was the ultimate guarantee of privacy.

When you would both tell the tale – having found the humour in it not long later – you would both admit to entirely forgetting the other lived there too.

In Chris’ case, he had been a little jetlagged. In your case, it had just slipped your mind.

For this to make sense, we would have to take a close look at the layout of the house. See, both yours and Chris’ rooms were connected by one specific point in the house: an en suite conjoining bathroom that both of you had access to.

Chris, having been a bachelor for most of his time living on that property, had never really dwelled much on the second door.

And you, having moved in a month prior, never once gave much thought to where the other door – his door – led. In all honesty, you had never even bothered to check.

And so, in the late hours of the morning, you found your eyes dragging open and your sleep ridden body stumbling out of bed.

How you hadn’t heard him was baffling – because, as you would later discover, Chris Evans did not merely sing in the shower, no. He goddamn performed; held a live concert for all the toiletries that were simply too inanimate to escape – but as you sluggishly hauled yourself to your bathroom door (always shut, thanks to the numerous horror films you had consumed during your lazy days), the last thing you were expecting was–

“OH MY GOD!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Both of you simultaneously leapt at the shock of finding someone you wouldn’t expect.

“Fuck, holy shit, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry–”

“{Your name},” he chuckled, glistening shoulders bouncing with mirth. “It’s okay.”

You had walked in on Chris fucking Evans, mercifully (for your part) clad in a white towel wrapped snugly around his waist. If the steam thick air was an indication, he had stepped out of the shower moments before your intrusion, and had been in the midst of combing the wet hair away from his face when you’d come in.

“I’m sorry, I thought the bathroom would be free, I…” you trailed off as you finally looked at him.

You had seen him shirtless before, obviously. Everyone had if they had seen almost any film he’d been in. But this was somehow… different.

You were mesmerised by the water droplets running down and getting caught on the ridges of his rippling muscles. And the tattoos…

You never would’ve guessed he had so many, some obscured by the damp hair that covered his chest, others in stark contrast of black on tan, smooth skin.

This was what he looked like, no makeup, no special effects, no airbrush. 100% him, real, in front of you, and a little naked.

“My eyes are up here.” He grinned teasingly. “See something you like?”

You swallowed thickly and finally looked him in his ocean eyes. “We never speak of this again.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

do you have any headcanons about Spy’s backstory? I know there’s not much to go off of, but I haven’t seen many people’s headcanons of Spy’s life before he met Scout’s Ma

my headcanon will vary from day to day based on what would be interesting to add or subtract from any given story, but i’ve got a few consistent ones, some of which i’m sure are borrowed from friends and fic

-spy keeps up to date at least three languages at any given time to stay properly fluent in, but knows about six total well enough to have an in-depth conversation with minimal stumbling and is very good at picking up conversational levels of most languages quickly. because of this his accent will shift pretty significantly month by month depending on what language he’s cycling through keeping up to date on

-in a similar vein, he tries to keep up a kind of Parisian accent for the most part because he’d rather that people don’t find out that he’s from countryside France and not some sort of upper-class part of one of the larger cities.

-i think he was a young man during the war, in his early twenties, and due to having an interest in learning languages during his high school years he tried to offer up his services to the various movements going on throughout France. they found out he had a talent for mimicking accents (again picked up during his school years—i think spy was probably in theater when he was younger), and he was put to work doing various kinds of espionage.

-i take a considerable bit of liberty with how history works in the tf2 universe because so does tf2, but i think writing WWII as anything other than messy and grim and horrible would be really disrespectful. with that in mind, i think the end of the war was both a relief and a weight to spy, because he was congratulated for all the help he did that he could admit to, but had to bear the consequences of the less savory things he needed to do in order to complete important missions.

-i think he was sucked into the criminal underground doing similar espionage work because it was the only real skill he picked up during several of the most important years of his life, and he eventually started working as a hired killer on the basis of being extremely good at making it look like it was someone else, or in some cases, like a person who outright doesn’t exist.

-i think he needed to flee France for a while just to ensure his safety, and just like that he was traveling all over the globe working whatever contract seemed most fitting, elaborately constructing lies about his past until he seamlessly integrated those lies into his memory to replace less savory truths

-spy tf2, all of that said, is a romantic at heart and tended to get very invested in people he was only meant to be invested in on paper, meaning that although his record overall was phenomenal, it’s tainted by a couple of extremely messy missions that he’s left not wanting to talk about for a variety of reasons

-i like to think a solid amount of his face looks a bit different after various reconstructive surgeries following bad accidents, and that he lost the majority of his teeth in one of them and just decided to bite the proverbial bullet following the extremely literal one.

-depending on the day i’ll go back and forth on details about spy’s family, but i tend to assume he was either an only child or an older brother to a sibling that didn’t survive the war. i tend to headcanon his parents as genuinely well-meaning but very much struggling to recover from the weight of the first world war, and besides that as extraordinarily normal average Joe types that mister dashing-rogue-persona Spy Teamfortress would be mortified to introduce to the team. luckily for him, i also tend to headcanon both parents being entirely uninterested in his work for a variety of reasons, though i like to think he has an elderly mother somewhere who would roll her eyes fondly at him getting defensive over the state of his suit

-(and i tend to figure, only on the basis of spy remembering it between what i can only assume is a very chaotic lifestyle, that whatever time he spent in boston was slightly more important to him than a few days and a pretty lady, but ultimately his choice to dip is just one of many mistakes in his life)

[curiousconch]

The Moments in Between (Part 3)

Book/Pairing: Open Heart 2 / Rafael Aveiro x F!MC

A/N: Although I agree to some of the fandom’s sentiments that MC and her LI’s relationship seemed to be pretty defined by the time set in the finale, I still wanted to create my own fitting conclusion. Emotional investment aside, I really felt these two characters deserve to have “the talk”, albeit my own version of it. I hope you’ll enjoy this, as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

This is also my entry to @choicesficwriterscreations Fics of the Week.

Click here for Part 2.

Warning/s: This is sprinkled with a little smut (there’s a marker).

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, pixelberry owns them. I’m just borrowing them.

Music Inspo: Collide - Acoustic Version / Howie Day

"So, you're staying."

Rafael said as he entered the apartment, dropping his keys on a green bowl settled on a tabletop near his door. His gait wobbled a little, the alcohol in his newly-recovered system probably catching up on him.

Casey nodded, as she followed him inside, shaking off her denim jacket and then hanging it on one of his living room chairs. She then bent down to remove her black heels one by one, dropping the pair on one corner.

"I'm staying in Boston after all, yes," she said as she freed her hair from a tight pony tail, letting her ombre tresses down for the first time today.

As she padded barefoot towards the kitchen, Raf pulled off his green jacket, sniffing it briefly to check if this overused garment needed to be tossed to his small pile of laundry. He decided it can last another day, and let it fall beside Casey's jacket.

Their movements around Raf's place echoed the state of their relationship - seemingly mundane, yet pleasant. And now that Casey's no longer moving away, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded the small apartment. All the more that it felt like home, their home.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water, her other hand nursing her throbbing temple, a hangover clearly on its way after the drinking fest the gang had on Donahue's earlier that night.

"Too many tequilas?" Raf joined her in the small kitchen after he removed his shoes, his mouth twisted lopsidedly, amused at the memory of Casey singing like a diva on their favorite bar's karaoke stage, after downing one shot more than she could normally handle.

She grunted, clearly annoyed at his teasing. But out of habit, she grabbed another glass of water and handed it to him. He accepted it, smiling at her as he leaned back on the dining table opposite her. She shook her head as she walked around him and settled herself on one of the chairs, suppressing a chuckle so as not to satisfy his amusement.

A comfortable silence fell on them, as they found their gazes linger at each other.

There was no denying that she practically lived there, strongly proven by the things she owned that cluttered everywhere - her medical books tucked under his coffee table, her green toothbrush and hair products in the bathroom cabinet, several scrubs and a couple of her clothes neatly folded, occupying a quarter of his closet space.

Her fingers tapped on the table, as the ache in her head faded. She sighed gratefully, the thought of not losing her job and the hospital she grew to love slowly sinking in. She leaned back on the chair and stretched her legs, closing her eyes briefly before Rafael spoke up.

"So when are your parents coming in to visit again?" he said before sipping from his glass, his eyes softening.

"Oh, their flight is in two weeks," her fingers reached for her phone, tapping absently on the screen to double check the details. "They're coming in a bit after midnight, so they said they'd just check in their hotel straight from the airport and meet with us for brunch the next morning."

Raf nodded, gulping the rest of his water. Feeling a little more thirsty, he turned around and went to refill his glass.

She finished her own and let it settle on top of the table, freeing her hands to scrolling through the text messages  she and her mom had that afternoon. She chuckled with their banter, their closeness indicated in the amount of emojis included in the exchange.

"What?" Raf quirked a brow at her, as he drank again, a curious laugh escaping from him.

She shrugged as she looked back at him. "I just realized how much I missed them. It's been too long since I saw them last, and to think that the next time I'm enjoying a meal with them is going to be with my boyfriend, it's an awesome thought."

Casey, not realizing her blunder, rose up from her seat and joined Raf by the kitchen sink. She didn't even notice how his mouth was gaping at her as she approached.

Still unaware, she reached for the empty glass on his hand and proceeded to wash the used cylinders in the kitchen sink.

Raf blinked hard, confounded with the word Casey just casually mentioned. Yes, they have already declared their love for each other, but they have yet to define their relationship.

They never had the talk. Although he longed for them to do so, he didn't want to pressure Casey, knowing full well that the gravity of the situation in Edenbrook and Leland Bloom was taking a toll on her. Besides, they didn't really had the chance since things only settled down just that night, their future pushed back to an uncertain nook which neither of them have yet to bring up.

Perhaps, they didn't need to.

Yet, here they are.

He now wondered, did he just wanted that too much that he began to imagine her calling him the "b" word, which he waited for almost two years to hear?

After she patted both glasses dry and placed them on the kitchen counter, she turned to Rafael, surprised to see him still locked in place, his furrowed brows and dark eyes bore an intensity unfamiliar to her.

"What?" she pouted, unable to comprehend what has gotten to him.

Raf leaned on the kitchen sink opposite her, brushing his dark curls with his free hand.

"Did you just call me your boyfriend, or did you intended to bring someone else to brunch with your parents?"

Her cheeks flushed pink as she gasped, both her hands covering her face as she now realized the slip of her tongue.

"Oh, god." she muttered under her breath, her shoulders shuddering, wanting nothing more than for the floor to eat her up to save her from her embarrassment.

Rafael forced himself not to laugh, but he was unable to stop himself from smiling like a fool.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she repeated, her body shaking, her eyes beginning to tear up. She never imagined this to be the way they would ultimately have this moment. She figured it to happen during one of those romantic walks in the park that they usually do during lazy afternoons, or during one of those gelato hunts they do throughout Boston.

It's not supposed to be so casual. It should have been special, she thought.

A pair of gentle hands freed her from her thoughts, reaching for her own which was covering her horrified face. 

*Mature content warning*

Those same hands gently pulled her out from her hiding, revealing a man's dark eyes gazed deeply into hers, so full of passion that overwhelmed her heart.

Strong arms embraced her with an urgency, soft lips pressing upon hers. Goosebumps crawled down her back, an automatic response to the desire of the man who took her in his arms and caught her lips in between his. It wasn't long until she stopped resisting and she let herself fall completely in his embrace, her heart beating as fast as his.

Rafael angled his head to deepen the kiss, wanting so much to make her feel the joy he was feeling right now, hoping that his body expressing his longing for her is more than enough. Action speak louder than words, after all.

He pulled her with him as he stepped back towards his bedroom, a stiff urge growing between his legs. Casey followed his movements, sensing her own building heat, not even breaking free from their interlocked lips.

As they crossed the threshold to his room, his hands slowly roamed her body, settling on her hips. With one lift he made her legs wrap around him, while he carried her the rest of the way to the bed.

As their bodies landed on the soft sheets, his mouth found her neck, and he heard her moan. His palms traversed from her hips upwards, roaming inside her now loosened gray top. He heard her mutter a soft curse, as the tips of his fingers rolled her sensitive peaks.

She laid her head back as she deftly reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up so she could explore his muscled abs. She threw the shirt across the room as she finally was able to remove it from him.

Rafael did the same, lifting her briefly so he could also unclasp her black bra. His mouth readily dived in between her chest, engulfing his face with the softness of her breasts, his tongue lapping, eventually finding one tip, the other enraptured by his fingers.

A louder moan escaped from her lips, his movements eliciting a budding wetness in between her thighs. Her hands found the button of his jeans, and she did not spare a second to free him from the rest of his clothing, exposing his very stiff member.

It wasn't long after that the rest of her garments found the carpeted floor of his bedroom. She nestled her head in between pillows, him on top or her, she stared at him with half-closed eyes, letting him know how she ached for him.

With a swift movement, he spread her legs and entered her. And with familiarity, he rode her in a pace already burned in their memory. Their bodies crashing in the dark, their lips alternating from clashing with each other and shouting exclaims of fulfilled desires with every stroke.

And with one final dive, Casey saw stars and felt a wave of ecstasy flow within her. Rafael followed suit, groaning with immense satisfaction, his body trembling with release.

Spent and satiated, he laid beside Casey's bare body, wrapping one arm around her to pull her close to him, near enough for her to hear the rise and fall of his chest. He shut his eyes closed for a few moments, as she pulled the sheets over them.  

When both of their breathing relaxed, he turned to look at her, raising the question he waited perhaps too long to ask.

"So... Can you be my girlfriend?" he asked, as his fingers trailed down the smooth skin of her bare arm.

Her head immediately perked up, her eyes looking back at him in mock disbelief.

"Don't you think it's too late for that now?" she groaned, poking his side. This time, he didn't stifle his laughter.

"Whose fault is that? You beat me to the punch." He playfully ran his hand through her hair, unable to contain his excitement at the thought of finally having a day to call their anniversary.

"Ugh, I hate you so much. You'll never let this go." Casey sunk her face on the sheets, attempting to hide her bashful grin.

"Perhaps..." he paused, blankly looking at the ceiling, focusing on his tone so he could make her feel every single word he was about to say.

"But it's you I don't plan on letting go. Not now, when you're finally my girlfriend. Not now, more than ever."

Casey blushed, thankful that he wasn't looking. She felt heat in her cheeks, reeling like a lovestruck teenager all over again.

But this time, she knew it wasn't like any other. In all of her relationships, it was only with Rafael that she felt this way. She knew deep down that what they have is special, one of a kind. With him, she can be her boring, insecure self. It was with Rafael that she could be just who she is.

And in all the many dramas of her life, it was him who kept her grounded. It was him who went out of his way to selflessly make her forget all the worries in the world. It's only with him that she felt this safe, that she felt secure.

This night turned out to be the perfect moment to solemnize what started between them since last year. Following the events which liberated them from any countdown or expiration date, this day seemed to be a fitting culmination.

With hushed whispers of good nights, rest came upon the both of them, tangled in each other’s warmth.

And as the light of the dawn broke and found its way through the bedroom's window, finally, their paths collide.

[omgjasminesimone]

Kept Part 4

Bryce x MC x Ethan

Previous Part: Part 3

Word Count: 1900

Author’s Note: The conclusion! Thanks to all who read, commented, and reblogged this story!

  “Wow.”

Casey’s attention had been firmly on perfecting her winged eyeliner in the hotel mirror, but now she diverts her stare just to the left, where she can see the mirrored reflection of her handsome husband leaning in the open doorway, already dressed in his tuxedo.

Bryce walks into the bathroom, maintaining eye contact with her through the mirror. He grips her hips, pulling her back into his broad chest as he places lingering kisses down her neck. “You look incredible honey.”

Casey almost allows herself to get lost in Bryce’s touch when he slowly trails one hand down to the hem of her black silk dress, dragging it up her leg. But then she remembers that they should have left ten minutes ago and lightly slaps his hand away.

“Bryce, we have to go.” Casey reminds him.

Bryce lets out an exaggerated sigh, but steps away from her so she can focus on her makeup. “Fine. But after the award ceremony, you’re all mine, Richard Neubauer Advocate for Internal Medicine Award winner Dr. Casey Lahela.” He promises.

Casey quirks a brow, putting on her earrings. “Oh? And what are you going to do with me?” She teases.

“All the things I can’t do at home without having your loud screaming waking up the kids.” Bryce growls in her ear. Casey can’t help but gulp at that, and Bryce laughs, placing one more light kiss to her neck.

“Speaking of the kids, we should call before bedtime.” Casey calls as Bryce leaves the bathroom.

“Good thinking!” Bryce calls back, and then she hears ringing when Bryce places the facetime call.

“Hello Bryce.” Marta, their live-in nanny, answers.

“Hey Marta. Just calling to check in. Are the kids behaving?”

“For the most part. You know Kalani likes to test me, but nothing I can’t handle. And Jordan is a little angel. The best-behaved toddler on the planet. I just hope Kalani doesn’t rub off on him.”

Bryce laughs. “Come on Marta. She’s not that bad.”

Marta huffs. “You have no idea. She’s much better behaved when you guys are around. Let me go get her for you.”

Casey can hear Marta’s footsteps through the phone as the older woman climbs the stairs of their Chapel Hill, North Carolina home to their 5-year-old daughter’s room.

The Lahelas have been settled in North Carolina for the last 9 years. After moving out of Ethan’s apartment all those years ago, Casey moved in with Bryce and his roommates. When the lease was up, they moved into their own one bedroom, seamlessly falling into a domestic routine. With things going so well, they agreed to couple match for residency, both ending up at Columbia. By the time Bryce was done with his surgical residency, they were 31 and talking about marriage, and children. They decided to leave New York City for the more family friendly Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  Casey ended up well on her way to Head of Diagnostics at UNC Chapel Hill, while Bryce was a celebrated surgeon at Duke, an easy commute from their home.

They got married and spent two years getting established at their new hospitals before getting pregnant with Kalani. Their son Jordan followed 2 and a half years later. They hadn’t been back to Boston since moving almost 14 years ago, until now since Dr. Casey Lahela is being honored with a very prestigious award at a fancy downtown Boston hotel convention room.

“Kalani, it’s your Daddy.” Marta calls, and there’s a shuffle as the phone is handed over.

“Daddy!” Kalani calls out excitedly, and Casey can practically hear her daughter’s exuberant grin.

“Hey baby, you’re holding the phone upside down, there you go.” Bryce praises when she turns it right side up. “I heard you’re giving Marta trouble.”

“I’m not Daddy! She’s lying!” Kalani insists indignantly.

“Kalani, why would Marta lie?” Casey asks when she joins her husband, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed and leaning on his shoulder so she can see the phone.

“Wow Mommy, you’re sooo pretty!” Kalani chimes sweetly. Her daughter isn’t used to seeing Casey all dolled up, since most of the Lahelas evenings are spent at home with the kids. Casey almost forgets she’s supposed to be reprimanding her daughter on account of the sweet compliment. But then she pauses to wonder if Kalani is purposefully buttering her up. Their little girl is smart, and somewhat devious.  

Casey narrows her eyes, but she has a feeling it has no effect on her daughter. “Flattery will get you nowhere. But thank you. We’ll be home Sunday night, and I don’t want any more bad reports, understood?”

“Yes Mommy.” Kalani mutters, before changing the subject. “Daddy, are you bringing a present home for me?”  

“Only if Marta says you’re good. Otherwise I’ll be bringing presents for just Marta and Jordan.” Bryce threatens, but he ruins it with a good-natured wink that he can’t help but add when Kalani frowns. The little girl immediately brightens but has the good sense not to wink back and alert her mother. Bryce is definitely the softy of her parents.

“Where’s your brother?” Casey asks, and Kalani points the phone down towards the carpet of her room, where Jordan is playing with a toy truck.

“Hey buddy.” Bryce greets jovially, and Jordan turns to face the phone.

“Dada! Mama!” He calls out, rushing over to lean against Kalani’s bed.

“We miss you baby! We’ll be home soon, okay? Be good for Marta.” Casey says, blowing a kiss to her son. “Kalani?” She calls, and Kalani pulls her brother onto her lap, putting both on them in the phone camera.

“Yeah?” The little girl asks.

“We love you. Be good.” Casey reiterates.

“Ok, we’re running late and need to go, and it’s bedtime. We’ll call tomorrow during breakfast. Good night! Love you!” Bryce calls, letting the kids return ‘good nights’ and ‘love you too’ before hanging up.

Bryce stands and then offers Casey a hand to pull her to her feet as well. “Let’s go Dr. They can’t start the ceremony without you.”

…

..

.

“Congratulations Dr. Lahela!” Sienna chimes, bounding up to give Casey a big hug.

Casey laughs, just barely managing not to spill her drink as she returns Sienna’s exuberant hug. It’s been almost two years since she last saw Sienna in person, when she and Danny came down to North Carolina to meet baby Jordan. Many doctors have approached and congratulated her during the after awards reception, but this congratulations means much more to her.

Sienna moves on to hug Bryce just as exuberantly, and Danny smiles and congratulates Casey as well.

“So, how are we celebrating? We’re kids free, so we’re going clubbing, right?” Sienna suggests.

“We’re pushing 40 honey. I think our clubbing days are behind us.” Danny insists, dropping a kiss to his wife’s forehead.

Sienna frowns. “Speak for yourself. 40 is the new 25. Come on Casey, it will be just like our med school days. Some of our favorite downtown spots are still open. We can even call Jackie. She’d come up from Providence for this.”

“Sorry Sienna, but I think Bryce has a private after party planned in our hotel suite.” Casey returns, leaning into Bryce’s embrace.

“Don’t be boring Casey! You can have sex with him any time.” Sienna insists.

“Not this kind of sex.” Bryce insists suggestively.

The foursome laughs, and then chat for a few more minutes before Danny and Sienna head out, having to work in the morning.

Bryce drops a kiss to the top of Casey’s head. “How about one more drink and then we head out of here?” Bryce suggests, and Casey nods. Bryce places a lingering kiss to her lips before heading off to the bar to get their drinks.

“Casey.” A familiar voice greets, although he never used to call her ‘Casey’.

Casey’s back stiffens momentarily before she turns to face the blast from her past. “Ethan.”

His hair has greyed in the fifteen years since they last saw each other. He’s 55 now and has a silver fox thing going on. He regards her fondly, offering a small smile. He gestures to the award clasped loosely in her hand. “Congratulations Dr.”

“Thank you.” Casey returns.

“There’s no one more deserving. You’ve been making a big name for yourself. And I heard the other Dr. Lahela invented some new groundbreaking surgery technique. Supposed to be the biggest thing since the Whipple, according to the journals. They’re calling you guys ‘the power couple of modern medicine.’” Ethan adds conversationally.

Casey shrugs modestly. “We have a long way to go to overthrow you and Harper. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way.”

Ethan looks down at his wedding ring with a small smile. “5 years already. I don’t know why I wasted so much time, but at least I finally pulled my head from my ass eventually.” He raises his gaze back to her. “And I’d like to apologize to you Casey.”

Casey waves his apology off. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does. I should have never treated you that way. Honestly, I think I was jealous. I saw all that potential in you, and I think even then I knew you would one day surpass me. And since all I had at the time was medicine, that thought made me do things I deeply regret. But now, that I see there’s so much more to life than work, I can see the error of my ways. And I sincerely want to apologize.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I was definitely in the wrong too. I see that now. I was young, but not naïve enough to not realize what you were doing. But I let you, for a long time, because I wanted to be comfortable. I wanted an excuse if I did fail. But I think ultimately, what I went through with you made me a stronger person, and a better doctor. I had to know how to advocate for myself before I could advocate for others. So, no hard feelings.” Casey replies, offering Ethan a small forgiving smile.

Ethan seems to let out a sigh of relief, as if this has been heavily weighing on him. “Well, I’m glad I could help then. And if you’re looking for any mentorship now, I could- “

Casey interrupts. “Let’s not go that far.” She says quickly, and they both laugh.

Harper approaches, slipping her hand into her husband’s. “Congratulations Dr. Lahela. Truly groundbreaking work.” She praises.

“Thank you, Dr. Emery.”

Harper turns to her husband. “Are you ready to get out of here? I just got paged back to work.” She reveals.

Ethan nods, “Goodnight Dr. Lahela.” He says before leaving with his wife.

Bryce approaches as soon as the older couple leaves. He was obviously being considerate by letting them talk that out alone. He hands Casey a glass of wine, sipping on a vodka tonic himself. “What’d he say?” Bryce asks curiously.

“He offered me a penthouse in Manhattan if I agree to be his mistress and leave you with the kids.”

“You’re not funny Casey.” Bryce insists, but he laughs anyway.  

...

..

@octobereighth​  @akrenich​  @lovehugsandcandy​ @regina-and-happiness​  @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @choicesarehard​  @lizeboredom​   @desiree-0816​  @hellooliviaolivia​ @dreaming-of-movies  @friedherringclodthing​  @weaving-in-words  @fairydustandsarcasm​  @goldenjellyfish12​   @pessimystic-fangirl​  @mimikoasahina​  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​   @god-save-the-keen​  @caroldxnvxrs​  @cora-nova​ @emceesynonymroll​ @ohsnapitzlovehacker​ @choicesgremlin​ @anxious-arliah​ @cordoniasmost​ @lahelable​ @annekebbphotography​ @liamzigmichael4ever​​ @crispycrunchyleaves​​ @mskaneko​ @ritachacha​ @zaffrenotes​