#i am 31 years old with no intent of having a child and yet i still have to teach children the difference between a drawing and real life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joealwyndaily · 3 years ago

Text

Joe Alwyn currently occupies one of the strangest spaces in the greater celebrity matrix. He’s not yet the sort of movie star your parents would recognize at the airport and text you about, nor does he have the box-office draw of a Chalamet or Pattinson, at least not yet. The 31-year-old has been working steadily in film and television since his straight-out-of-British-drama-school debut as the lead in Ang Lee’s 2016 high-def experiment Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk. He racked up a series of well-received supporting roles in big period Oscar dramas and small critically appreciated indies, usually playing a Ken-doll-faced dick (Harriet, Operation Finale, Boy Erased, The Last Letter From Your Lover) or a blushing Brit from a bygone era (The Sense of an Ending, The Favourite, The Souvenir Part II, Mary Queen of Scots). Now, his first lead role since Billy, in Hulu’s second Sally Rooney adaptation, Conversations With Friends, threatens to make him fully Recognizable to Moms.

For a specific and rather substantial subset of the global population, however, Alwyn is not only a household name but a dinner-table centerpiece. To Google him is to stare straight into the stan-culture abyss. Lengthy YouTube videos are dedicated to his rare and rather unremarkable public interactions with his overwhelmingly famous longtime girlfriend — “Taylor Swift turns around to look at her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, and sticks her tongue out at him” — or to the opaque references the two have made to the mere fact of each other’s existence. Breathless lists of “everything Taylor and Joe have said about their private relationship” abound in the Us Weekly universe. Alwyn is left to choose his words and body language wisely or risk their becoming permanent parts of the elaborate Swiftian canon. The man is not simply well-versed in the art of concealment; he is the Criss Angel of conversational dynamics. In interviews, he often demonstrates an ability to politely answer a question while revealing absolutely nothing about himself, sometimes even backtracking mid-answer to negate a benign detail. (From a recent piece in Mr. Porter: “Well, do you like football?” asks the reporter. “Football?” replies Alwyn. “Yeah. Am I allowed to say those kinds of things?”)

Yet he believes he has gotten better at the whole press thing over the years. “I don’t think I don’t enjoy interviews,” he says carefully. “I think I have seemed guarded.” He definitely “would like to not seem so guarded in them.” I can see those contradicting desires roiling inside Alwyn now, sitting across from him on the patio at Fairfax, in the West Village, for lunch. His energy is vaguely uncomfortable but determined, like that of someone preparing to swim laps in the English Channel in January to prove something to themselves. Perhaps sensing he has already revealed too much, he falls back on one of his tried-and-true lines: “If you were to ask a stranger on the street questions about their private life, let alone with the intent to then post it everywhere, why would that person not be like, ‘Sorry, what, why?’ So why would I not be like that?” He points at a woman sitting across the way from us who is, to my knowledge, not on a press tour. “I’m not going to go over there and ask that woman about her personal life.” “Actually, maybe you should,” I suggest. “I mean, I might do later,” he says, now looking cheered. “I’ll just holler across the street.”

Alwyn orders a Guinness (which is not available, so he opts for an IPA) after confirming I will also be drinking. “I’m just clinging on to that Irishness,” he says, referring to the five months he spent filming Conversations With Friends in Belfast. I start with some simple questions — When did he realize he wanted to act? What was he like as a child? “See, these are the questions I find hard,” he says. Was he introverted? Outgoing? Sporty? “I was on the introverted side but not a crippling introvert. Like an extroverted introvert,” he answers. “Is that allowed?”

In small spurts, I learn Alwyn was “not hammy” as a youth — instead, he was the family baby, “displaced” at age 12 by a new sibling, and an athlete who realized what he really wanted was to act. He kept his burning theatrical desires quiet, à la Zac Efron in High School Musical. He admits to an early obsession with Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet and talks joyfully about how he was brought up watching “random French movies” with his documentary-filmmaker father and psychotherapist mother. Occasionally, he broke free from the chains of jockdom and played Banquo in a version of Macbeth performed entirely on Rollerblades, and Snowy the dog in a production of Tintin despite looking exactly like Tintin: “Snowy was more of a stretch.”

Alwyn says he “secretly would look up drama schools online” as a teenager. Once in university, he applied to four and was rejected by all but one. He was yanked out in his last year by Lee, who had fought with the studio to cast an unknown as the naïve, PTSD-ridden Billy Lynn. “It was terrifying and surreal and happened so quickly,” Alwyn remembers. Critics were almost unilaterally derisive of the film, but Alwyn was praised for his naturalism, his believable innocence, and, per one review, a “cuteness roughly akin to that of Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.” Like most things that have happened to Alwyn, that image has proved to be both a boon and a curse. Directors feel they must either play off it directly (place him somewhere in the past when evidently it was more normal to look like that; make him the evil, rich trophy husband to 1960s amnesia victim Shailene Woodley; cast him as Margot Robbie’s devoted, winsome courtier) or subvert it (he looks this way because he is an actual Nazi). Before filming Billy Lynn, Lee had been concerned that Alwyn was “too handsome” to play a run-of-the-mill contemporary dude; ultimately, he decided Alwyn’s face is “so compelling it doesn’t matter.”

The conversation about his looks gets meta in Conversations. In the series, he plays Nick, an emotionally walled-off, married, 30-something actor who begins an affair with a college student and slowly lets his guard down. His character is a classically attractive, heavily restrained man with hidden depths who struggles to be taken seriously while everyone around him says stuff about his face. In one scene, he and his paramour, Frances, are bidding each other farewell after a drawn-out romp when she blurts out, “You’re so handsome.” Nick turns pink. “I thought you were attracted to my personality,” he jokes half-heartedly. “Do you even have one?” replies Frances, who then looks equally humiliated. Alwyn begins mock-pulling at his cheeks and widening his eyes at any talk of said face. “Two eyes, one nose, one mouth,” he says. “I don’t know what to say.” But did he relate to that moment with Nick and Frances? “It’s not something I wrestled with,” he says, studying me as he spoons up some steak tartare. He tenses a bit. “What are you trying to get me to say about my face?” I explain that I have no specific face-related agenda, and he visibly relaxes. “No, sorry, I’m sure,” he says. “I would much rather work with an interesting director in a smaller, weirder, darker part, than something big and obvious and getting typecast just for the sake of it.”

COVID had messed up his plans to star in an “Emily Brontë origin story,” so he put himself on tape for Conversations director Lenny Abrahamson one weekend at an unnamed friend’s “beautiful, immaculate” house. Thinking he needed to look older than his three decades to play the mid-30s Nick, he went upstairs to find a jacket from his friend’s “older husband,” where he found a paperback copy of Conversations With Friends lying on the bedroom floor. He got the part a week later. “I’m not superstitious,” he adds, before spending the next five minutes discussing the things he actually is superstitious about — namely, and randomly, magpies. (“If I see one, I’m like, ‘Oh, shit,’” he says, whipping out his phone to show me a photo of a magpie, appearing genuinely thrilled to be talking about this.)

Alwyn’s performance in Conversations is his best yet. He’s convincing as a sensitive, depressive guy who desperately wants to open up to someone but doesn’t quite know if it’s safe to do so. The role is bold. There are more sex scenes per capita in this series than anything he has ever done, scenes of the caliber and intimacy that turned Paul Mescal, the previously unknown star of Hulu’s first Rooney adaptation, Normal People, into an icon of early-pandemic-era sensuality. “When they sent the audition, they said, just as a heads up, that it would be to sign up for the possibility of full frontal,” Alwyn says, though he ended up going tush-only. Is he prepared to be the subject of a new type of public frenzy? “To be honest, I forget that other people will see it.”

In the summer of 2020, Swift surprise-released the Grammy-winning album Folklore. Fans speculated endlessly about the identity of William Bowery, a mysterious co-writer on two songs. That November, Swift revealed that Bowery was in fact Alwyn and that the pair had taken up songwriting together in quarantine. I assume Alwyn will give me one of his speak-arounds on the subject. Instead, he leans forward, putting his English Channel–swimming face back on. “What would you like to know?”

Although he grew up playing a bit of piano and was the guitarist in a “crappy school band called Anger Management,” Alwyn doesn’t consider himself a musician or songwriter and insists that he is, in fact, an awful singer. He was merely “messing around” on the piano when Swift heard and walked over, intrigued. He had been singing the fully formed first verse to the song that became “Exile.” (Bon Iver handles the male vocals on the final version.) “It was completely off the cuff, an accident,” he says, shrugging. “She said, ‘Can we try and sit down and get to the end together?’ And so we did. It was as basic as some people made sourdough.”

I press him on this point — he wrote an entire verse to a Taylor Swift song without trying? “Who doesn’t walk around the house singing?” he asks. I explain that it’s unusual for hit songs to spring forth like that from nonmusicians’ heads. He says he wasn’t trying to write to Swift’s personal sound but had been listening to a lot of the National (Aaron Dessner ended up producing the album). Alwyn wrote the chorus for “Betty” just as casually, albeit less soberly: “I’d probably had a drink and was just stumbling around the house. We couldn’t decide on a film to watch that night, and she was like, ‘Do you want to try and finish writing that song you were singing earlier?’ And so we got a guitar and did that.”

Initially, Alwyn didn’t want his name credited, anticipating that what he describes as the “clickbait conversation” would distract people from actually listening to the music. So he went by William Bowery as a nod to his music-composer great-grandfather and the Manhattan street. But then he recognized the “clickbait conversation” was happening anyway — “I don’t say that vainly,” he adds quickly — so why not let the world know it was him? He stresses his blissful ignorance of, say, those videos dissecting his relationship with Swift: “I’m aware of those when people tell me in these situations.” It seems like a healthy, practiced denial; he has worked at tuning this shit out because otherwise he might never utter a single syllable again. And despite having a face that launched a thousand Swift songs, at certain angles in his normal-boy outfit, he does have a certain ability to blend. None of the other 30-somethings lunching at Fairfax seem to have any clue who he is. “I suppose it’s not as if you’re Jennifer Lopez,” I joke. “I beg to differ,” he shoots back with a laugh. “I am Jennifer Lopez.” I start to warm to Alwyn. He knows that what he wants (privacy) and what he has to do (publicity) are fundamentally at odds and has embraced that contradiction with dry, charming wit.

We’ve finished our food, which means the moment we’ve both been dreading can no longer be avoided. “You have things you have to ask,” says Alwyn, folding his hands together. “And I’ll either choose to answer or not.” I look him gamely in the face and ask if he is, indeed, betrothed to marry one Taylor Alison Swift. He exhales. “The truth is,” he begins, “if I had a pound coin for every time someone told me I’ve been engaged or I’m getting engaged, I would have a lot of pound coins. If the answer was yes, I wouldn’t say. If the answer is no, I wouldn’t say.” I’m struck briefly speechless. It is perhaps the best non-answer I have ever received. I ask him how often he’s practiced it, and he explains that recently, back home in the U.K., a journalist had tried to sneakily phrase the engagement as a statement rather than a question. “You’re not the first person to ask,” he says. His tone conveys that he understands I will also not be the last.

Before I release Alwyn back into the wild, I ask why, in one of his rare forays into celebrity endorsement — a perfectly confusing Tom Ford perfume commercial — he appears physically appalled by the sight of his own neck in the mirror as he sprays himself with the scent. “How dare you!” he says, laughing, looking both offended and delighted. “If that’s not how everyone puts perfume on themselves, then I’ve been lied to.” He suddenly remembers his professional obligations: “Tom Ford’s amazing as a person.” He stands up and bids me a polite farewell. Walking solo toward Tribeca, he is instantly snapped by the paparazzi.

#joe alwyn #interview #vulture

95 notes · View notes

snowdice · 3 years ago

Text

Little Kestrel (Part 39) [Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb, sexual coercion of minors implied, a minor offering sexual favors

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted (and possibly some future content), look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38

Logan was glad to see when Patton brought Virgil to meet him at the library that the boy seemed to be doing slightly better than he had been that morning. He was still jumpy and didn’t seem interested in his normal library activities (that being exploring the library and climbing on top of shelves/somehow getting into walls). Instead, he basically hid behind Logan, taking a seat half under Logan’s usual desk on the side facing away from the door.

Patton had to leave to attend some meeting shortly after dropping Virgil off, leaving the two of them alone

“Would you like a book?” Logan asked, peering down at the boy hiding under his desk.

“Sure,” he said softly, and Logan handed him one of the children’s books he’d been trying to read on his own recently. He took it and set it in his lap.

“Tell me if you need anything,” Logan instructed, before turning back to his own book in Sanskrit.

Weight pressed against his leg a few minutes later and Logan idly reached down a hand to touch the top of Virgil’s head, stroking through his hair softly a few times. It was luckily warm at Logan’s desk despite being by the window. Being cold always made Virgil more distressed.

He glanced down after a bit of hair petting only to see Virgil not reading his book and instead looking up at him with a strange look in his eyes.

“Everything alright?” Logan asked, feeling tendrils of concern wrap around his heart.

Virgil watched him for a long moment, his gaze focused and intent. “Why are you being nice to me?” he finally asked.

Logan looked at him, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” he asked. He did not get a response. He just got dark, intense eyes seeming to stare into his soul. “You haven’t done anything to make me want to be mean to you.”

“Yes, I have,” Virgil said simply.

“Well,” Logan conceded. “Nothing recently. You didn’t get particularly far with the… action that could have made me unhappy anyway.”

“I could have.”

“You didn’t.”

“Does it matter?”

“I think it does,” Logan said. He’d paused the petting of Virgil’s hair when he’d spoken, but softly ran his hand through it again now. Virgil pulled away from him.

“I don’t,” he said.

“Well, seeing as it is my affection we are talking about, I imagine my opinion matters more,” Logan stated calmly. Something about that sentence appeared to have been the wrong thing to say because Virgil scowled at him.

“You’re stupid,” he said.

“There is significant evidence that contradicts that statement,” Logan said. “Case in point,” he gestured to the desktop, “I am currently reading a book in a dead language…”

“Yeah, well there is ‘significant evidence’ that supports that statement,” Virgil sassed back.

“Oh?” Logan asked, “and what would that be?”

He’d had a bit of a bite to his words before, but he seemed to deflate now. He looked down and mumbled something.

“What was that?” Logan asked. “I would appreciate knowing the so called evidence for your opinion.”

He stared at Logan’s knees instead of looking up at him, teeth clenched. “You should have killed me,” he said firmly.

Logan swallowed the sudden bile in his throat at the very thought. He was unsure if he was prepared for this conversation wherever it was going, and very much wished Virgil had decided to have this emotional incident when Patton was here as well. Or better yet when only Patton was here. “I disagree,” Logan said.

“Then you’re stupid,” Virgil said darkly.

Logan looked down at him for a moment and then pushed his chair back slowly as to not startle him. Just as slow, he folded himself down to his knees. Virgil wouldn’t look at him, eyes resolute on his own knees. He was as tense as a bowstring ready to snap. He didn’t move even as Logan settled in front of him.

“I am glad that you are here,” Logan said. “That you are not dead. If that makes me stupid, then so be it.”

Virgil did not respond. He didn’t even twitch or move his eyes to look at Logan.

Logan sighed. “What is wrong?” he asked. “I know it’s been colder outside and that makes you increasingly anxious, but you are perfectly fine inside. You don’t need to worry here.”

He still did not respond.

“Virgil,” Logan called. “Look at me.”

For a moment he thought Virgil wouldn’t do so, but he twitched once and then slowly looked up at him.

Logan smiled at him softly. “It’s alright, Virgil.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Yes,” Logan said insistently. “I will make sure it’s alright.”

“You can’t promise that,” he finally spoke.

“I’m the prince,” Logan said with a half-smile. “I can promise whatever I like.”

“Something will go wrong,” Virgil insisted.

“What will?”

“Something,” Virgil said.

Logan raised one eyebrow. “You are worried about something, and you cannot even articulate what the threat is?” he asked.

“Something will happen,” he snapped. “Something will happen, or someone will figure something out or I’ll mess up or something.”

“I will make sure nothing goes wrong,” Logan promised. “Even if it does, I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

“And if it’s because I mess up?” Virgil asked.

“I’ll still make sure nothing bad happens,” Logan said.

Virgil scoffed. “What if what I mess up makes you mad?”

“I don’t think you could do anything that would make me mad enough not to want to help you.”

“I could,” he said darkly.

Logan paused. “You could,” he agreed. Logan was after all aware he was a trained assassin even though it was easy to forget most of the time, “but you also couldn’t.” He’d already proven that well enough to Logan.

Virgil stared at him. He did not deny it. “You don’t know me,” he said instead. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know plenty about you Virgil. Including that.”

He frowned and turned his face away to hide it in his knees.

“Virgil,” Logan sighed after a few seconds. Virgil just went somehow even more tense than he’d been for this entire conversation, clenching his arms around his legs. Logan was silent for a couple of seconds hoping he’d calm down on his own a bit, but the opposite seemed to happen. His breath began to hitch after a few seconds and Logan noticed tears building in his eyes. Logan winced. He was not the right person for this, but he was the only one there. “It’s alright Virgil,” he said. “Can I help in any way?”

Virgil did not seem to hear him, caught up in his own head. His breath began to come faster by the moment, and Logan didn’t know how to calm him. What would Patton do?

Logan slowly reached out to put a hand in his hair much like he had earlier while seated at the desk. Logan quickly realized this was the wrong move as Virgil flinched back at being touched, head shooting up to look at him, or more accurately through him.

The next thing Logan knew there was a sharp sting on his cheek. It took a second for Logan to register what had just happened, but by the time he did, Virgil clearly had snapped back to himself and looked aghast.

“Virgil,” he said slowly, and that was clearly also the wrong thing to do because speaking startled Virgil out of his horrified daze, and he went scrambling out from under the desk. “Wait! Virgil!” he called, bumping his head against the top of the desk. It hurt much worse than the slap had a moment before, and the pain forced him to pause for a second. By the time he managed to make it out from under the desk, Virgil was long gone.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 40 Part 41

Birds of Different Feathers Master Post

My Masterpost

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas sanders #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #past torture #captivity #not pieces fic

13 notes · View notes

givemeonebreath · 4 years ago

Text

A big, messy Linked Universe playlist

Link for Links

Heavy on the angst, because of who I am as a person. (At the same time, don’t take it too seriously, man.)

Influenced by canon, manga (TP Link is really Going Through It™ ), my personal perceptions, and popular fandom canon.

A pretty wide variety of genres, with a bias towards metal and prog rock.

I kept snippets of lyrics for most songs, also because of who I am as a person. (Some were particularly hard to narrow down to just one verse or chorus.) Those - and a little more rambling - are under the cut if you really want, in the order of the playlist. But. It’s long.

I didn’t initially make this with the intent to share, but hey. Throughout my past year+ of listening, I’ve been haphazardly adding songs to a playlist I very creatively named Links. If something reminded me of them, whether through the music or lyrics or both, I threw it on the playlist, so some songs might seem odd or vague. Some are really on the nose, as subtle as a sledgehammer. (Sky for Sky? Dude. Sorry.) Some are there because of a fitting line or two that stuck in my head. Ultimately, music - like any form of creative expression - can be interpreted in a multitude of ways.

My listening habits and tastes are erratic, which is why this is one big, jumbled playlist and not separated for different Links. Not to mention if I did that, some (Wild, Legend) would have a lot and some (Wind, Four) would have none, both because of my own familiarity with them, and because of the general themes of the music I tend to listen to. Most songs are a general ‘hero’s spirit reborn�� mood, anyway - those are the first part of the playlist. The second half is more nuanced to specific Links, plus a few Ganon vibes.

1. Deep Purple - April (Koji Kondo, composer of the original Legend of Zelda theme, was into Deep Purple as a kid, and it shows.)

2. Kamelot - Regalis Apertura

3. Au4 - So Just Hang On, Beautiful One (I’ve posted this here before. I can’t hear it without thinking of LU now.) So I slipped in through the gate almost unknown. All my border stamps were late. Seven days old. Cold hand griped my shoulder blade, broke the bone. Bloody nose and turned away, all the way home.

4. FC Kahuna - Hayling Don’t think about all those things you fear, just be glad to be here

5. Glass Animals - Youth Boy, when I left you you were young I was gone, but not my love You were clearly meant for more Than a life lost in the war

6. Pain of Salvation - Restless Boy A restless boy in a world too slow A flame born into cinder, ash, and glow I've given everything I gave it all Yet find myself alone

7. Haken - The Endless Knot Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line our cycle starts to fail. Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line we die to live again. We need a story to believe in. We need a hero to prevail. We need a challenge we can overcome, it takes a tragedy to make us one

8. Kamelot - Memento Mori (I particularly associate this with Time and Twilight) I am the god in my own history The master of the game I may believe if she would come to me And whisper out my name Sometimes I wonder where the wind has gone If life has ever been Sometimes I wonder how belief alone Can cut me free from sin

9. Katatonia - Fighters Look I told you so We never stop If we said that We'll back it up For sure You know We're fighters

10. Megadeth - This Day We Fight! (I mean, all Links, but particularly Warriors) For this I was chosen, because I fear nothing With confidence I tread through the dead of the night Off to another war-torn, faraway battlefield Wherein lies a demonic enemy horde

11. Moon Tooth - Igneous Well, the spirit took me And this old broken body leapt up and danced Settin’ out Settin' out with all my heroes in a bundle at my back Hawk am I More wings span in my shadow than overcast Yeah, you know what they say Always need something to look up to, ha

12. Samael - Moongate Destiny, tomorrow is today Destiny, without boundaries How many nights will we spend together traveling infinity back and forth and again How many times will we go together questioning eternity about us about our wonders...

13. TOOL- Parabola This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion

14. Lunatic Soul - Blood on the Tightrope No matter how hard you try To shut down your feverish thoughts They hunt you down with no regret Cause you have to fix it all

15. Hybrid - Keep It In The Family

16. Soul Savers - Unbalanced Pieces Gone, now carry on Through violent seasons I call you mother, mother, mother In vain, absent chain The twilight's bleeding And the playing board has two unbalanced pieces

17. Steve Von Till - Valley of the Moon All she gives is a stone facade Like ill-given flowers at a dead man's wake Here we slave for the dreams of another And fight over scraps like wayward dogs

18. Ludovico Einaudi - Experience

19. Lunatic Soul - Summoning Dance Three stones on the right side Three stones on the left My vicious circle of life and death “Oh you want it” I hear it again “Oh you want it” My burden Curse to break

20. Lunatic Soul - Through Shaded Woods Run through your shaded woods Run through your shaded mind Run through the night Run away Run through the darkness Run

21. Lunatic Soul - Naavie

22. David Bowie - Nature Boy There was a boy A very strange, enchanted boy They say he wandered very far Very far, over land and sea A little shy and sad of eye But very wise was he

23. The Dandy Warhols - Sleep Well, I could sleep forever But it's of her I dream If I could sleep forever I could forget about everything

24. Au4 - Everyone is Everyone (and Everything is Everything) Tripping and tumbling, Flipping and fumbling. Flowing on the rivers of sadness That have been forever rumbling. But from dawn until now Of all the paths that I could have gone down Of all the valleys That I could have been flowing through. In spite of all the chaos And all that has come between us, How is it I still find myself Here with you.

25. Kingcrow - Everything Goes Your hands again upon the ground Falling rain for hours and hours As you learn the game Time dispels the fog ... Ever been there? Ever felt like prey? Ever thought your mind was feeble? Lot of things that don’t make sense

26. Pain of Salvation - Icon As a child I felt too old And now when I'm grown-up I feel too young A different kind so I've been told Just slightly out of reach and out of time

27. Sophia Loizou - Divine Interference (I got spooky dungeon vibes. Also, the title.)

28. Carpenter Brut - Fab Tool Runnin Gunnin Forward in the phantom shatter so grand Splatter grand, arcanum fuel Wrought iron out of the sky Over me, tells no lie

29. Blue Stahli - Death Will Have to Run All on the open road Where none will ever grow A journey toward the known With countless miles to go

30. Gyroscope - Mistakes & Ladders I am the first? No I can't be the first A continuous nothing, destined for something Tell me who you are and why you trapped me here

31. Queens of the Stone Age - Run, Pig, Run Run, pig, run Here I come

32. Chali 2na & Krafty Kuts - Guard The Fort The swords are drawn and odds are stacked And we clash the impact's a thunderous clap Calm demeanor Even though we are under attack [...my turn to guard the fort ready for combat]

33. The Great Discord - Army of Me (lol)

34. Kongos - Terrified I think I'll start again and change my name You only live once or twice, what a shame Somebody fucked up when designing this game

35. Woodkid - Run Boy Run Run, boy, run! This ride is a journey to Run, boy, run! The secret inside of you Run, boy, run! This race is a prophecy Run, boy, run! And disappear in the trees

36. The Beta Machine - The End A million miles away from you this time I'll do what it takes I'm on my way If lines are in the sand I'll go under If I can make it in time I will bring you back with me

37. Devin Townsend Project - Gump When we last met who was I? I'm sorry we no longer see eye to eye The energy to keep you in while keeping myself out I'm sorry how you'll take this But I just don't have the patience anymore

38. Arrested Youth - Riot! I can't get much satisfaction living in this cave It's tough to breathe, I'm in the belly of the beast Can't sleep with all my rage With me and all my generations living in this cage Pick up your guns and tell your sons, tonight we break the cage

39. Led Zeppelin - Friends So anytime somebody needs you Don't let them down, although it grieves you Some day you'll need someone like they do Looking for what you knew

40. Faunts - M4, pt 2 (Wild) Fight your foes you're not alone Holy war is on the phone Asking to please stay on hold Bleeding loss of blood runs cold And I need you to recover Because I can't make it on my own

41. Faith No More - Ashes to Ashes (Wild) I want them to know it's me, it's on my head I'll point the finger at me, it's on my head Smiling with the mouth of the ocean And I'll wave to you with the arms of the mountain

42. Devin Townsend - Jupiter (Wild) I know you At least I think I do Everything's changed But in the days that are so dark It's wonderful

43. Katatonia - Neon Epitaph (Wild) Shadow of my shadow Cling not to my grief I am long left behind now You are free

44. The Smashing Pumpkins - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning (Wild) Time has stopped before us The sky cannot ignore us No one can separate us For we are all that is left The echo bounces off me The shadow lost beside me There's no more need to pretend Cause now I can begin again

45. Katatonia - Lacquer (Wild) My voice travelling Soaring bird above your head The house we lived in Ridden with disease ... The levee breaking I can't live to fight once more The road to the grave is straight as an arrow I'm just staying around to sing your song, baby

46. Eskimo Joe - This is Pressure (Wild) There is no romance in suffocation The walls fall down like your expectations You want to scream And you want to shout But you've built up steam And you can't let it out This is pressure

47. Portugal. The Man - 1000 Years (Wild) We'll wait 1000 years Until the end of time We'll wait 1000 more Dressed up in gold and white We'll climb the mountain sides To find what's in the sky We'll dig through mountain sides To find what's deep inside

48. Au4 - An Ocean’s Measure of Sorrow (Wild) Forgot my name and who I was. Memories of nothing floating up. All of the sorrow we once knew, Colours the ocean's water blue.

49. Band of Skulls - Carnivorous (Twilight) I am corrosive and cohesive Like a chemical bond I'm all together undone I am the broken kingdom I'm just so, so, so So carnivorous

50. Glass Animals - Flip (Twilight) I wanna go back with a club and attack I wanna take to my guns and break you I gotta make my little foe take his own

51. TV on the Radio - Wolf Like Me (Twilight) My mind has changed my body's frame, but, God, I like it My heart's aflame, my body's strained, but, God, I like it

52. Kamelot - The Spell (Twilight) All my demons cast a spell The souls of dusk rising from the ashes So the book of shadows tell The weak will always obey the master

53. OSI - Radiologue (Legend) I was dreaming I was heading west thirty days faster Had a fever woke up in a sweat bailing out the water Can't go on Can't go back Heard your voice coming through the noise wrote it in the radio log Hurt my head, wondering what you said so I threw it overboard

54. Katatonia - Don’t Tell A Soul (Legend) I have been destroyed by the perfection that is a lie see I'm moving soon see my feet are already on the road and if you know where I’m going don’t tell a soul

55. Haken - The Mind’s Eye (Legend) The shape of things to come are closer than they seem Changing your design every time you disappear I'm planning my escape through portals of your mind Where people seem to drop like flies

56. Pain of Salvation - Species (Legend) Sometimes I hate my fucking species Yet most days I'll do anything to please it My generation was fooled to pursue our dreams But it is not what it seems You never need what you want And you rarely want what you need

57. Euringer - Do You Kiss Your Mama with That Mouth? (Legend) All my life, misunderstood I'm fuckin' too smart, too smart for my own good The last question, before I go is "Hey motherfucka, do you kiss your mama with that mouth?" Yes! I kiss your mama with this mouth

58. !!! - Pardon My Freedom (Legend) Like I give a fuck, like I give a shit Like I give a fuck about that shit Like I give a fuck about that motherfucking shit

59. Team Sleep - Ataraxia (Legend) Froze asleep Coma deep I dream I'm out with you Alone at sea

60. Oliver Tank - Embrace (Legend) You're in my dreams The world is torn apart at the seams And I don't wanna leave Wearing my heart on it's sleeve

61. Machine Gun Fellatio - The Girl of My Dreams (Is Giving Me Nightmares) (Legend) The girl of my dreams is giving me nightmares I don't know what it means but she's got multi-coloured hair When she stands in the sand I dream of peaches And I'm not sure what that means either

62. Earl Greyhound - Shotgun (Legend & Hyrule) I am nobody, nobody is who I am I am a traveler on this land And nothing, nothing, nothing in my hands

63. TV on the Radio - Staring at the Sun (Hyrule) You're staring at the sun You're standing in the sea Your mouth is open wide You're trying hard to breathe The water's at your neck There's lightning in your teeth Your body's over me

64. Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon (Time) Fate Up against your will Through the thick and thin He will wait until You give yourself to him

65. Sufjan Stevens - Sugar (Sky) Don’t break my heart, don’t break my flow now And all this rage has got to go now Let’s take up this lifeline Come on, baby, gimme some sugar Don’t make me wait Don’t make me wait too long Don’t make me sing the sad song Come on, baby, gimme some sugar

66. Obsydians - Ascension (Sky) Rise above the hardships you’ll face I will sign and keep on rising As long as you are giving me your soul and keep me awake Feel like home and spread your light around I will listen and just be there As long as you are giving me your love I’ll give you my soul

67. Sonique - Sky -_-

68. Enter Shikari - The King (Ganon) Watch your back, my friend I'm about to kickstart a cycle Of never ending revenge And this time it's primal, it's tribal

69. Saul Williams - WTF! (Ganon, Hylia) "You've been polluted, uprooted by time You have been muted, computed but I'm A living vessel of the one, of the moon, of the sun" Hey! You ain't as dead as you seem, what the fuck? Hey! But you keep living your lies

70. These New Puritans - We Want War (Ganon/ Dark Link/ any nemesis I guess) Shadows dance back up, it's happening again If you listen carefully you might hear them whisper: "We hold all the secrets, we hold all the words; But they're scrambled and broken so you'll never know" Can't you see them Floating like black ash? Can't you feel them Crawling down your back?

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #listening to music while I stare blankly at nothing is legit my number one hobby #and then shit like this happens #linked universe playlist

20 notes · View notes

helloprettybb · 4 years ago

Text

swindler’s trick

Here’s a periodical fic set in 1870, five years after the Civil War and takes place in England. Inspired by Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice, I tried to mimic the language but probably messed up. This is a Steve x stark!reader and Tony is Anthony because of the time period. Also, the reader is 20 and Steve is 31.

Summary: Steve Rogers needed to clear his head. Haunted from the war and his past relationship, Steve sets sail for England to reunite with an old friend and hopefully distract himself from his life in America. His distraction comes in the form of a beautiful young girl, who proves to be a worthy interest, but will she be enough to help Steve move on from his past?

Warning: poor attempt at victorian era vernacular, victorian standards, fake history, age gap

Word count- 10.6k

Stark’s manor is as ridiculous as the man himself. The large, four-story house resembles a castle with its multiple chimneys and towering peaks. The red roof is angled perfectly to deflect the normally gusty winds. Luckily for Steve, his arrival was met with a slight breeze and shining sun; a complete juxtaposition to the harshness of early Spring.

Nevertheless, Steve isn’t the least surprised as he steps into the extravagant manor. If Steve thought the stone exterior was showy, then the interior was just unnecessarily grand. There were two large staircases that each met on the beautiful marble floors. Steve looks up and sees an intricate chandelier with crystals placed to look like falling rain.

Steve was so taken aback by the architecture that he didn’t notice the man standing at the door. He looks to be in his mid to late 50′s, with gray, balding hair. He stands tall and Steve assumes he’s the butler.

“Hello, sir. My name is Steve Rogers. I sent a letter saying I’d...” Steve tries to explain, but the man cuts him off.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers. Anthony said he’d be expecting you. You can wait in the parlor.” the butler promptly says and walks away. Still caught off guard, Steve doesn’t notice the butler walk away until he’s at lease twelve paces away. Steve looks around confusedly, wondering where the hell the parlor is.

He wanders down a couple hallways and finally comes across what looks like a parlor. There are two single couches with a long, two-person couch in the middle. In the corner, there’s a grand piano that hardly looks touched. Above the stone fireplace, there’s a portrait of Anthony as a child and who Steve assumes are his parents. His father looks like a much sterner version of him and his mother holds a slight resemblance to him. Steve takes a seat in one of the chairs.

It feels like hours until Steve hears his name being called. He practically jumps to his feet and stands at attention. Then he looks and realizes it’s just Anthony. “At ease, soldier.” he jokes and Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Stark.” he replies and walks over to shake Anthony’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Anthony replies, a genuine smile gracing his face. He gestures to the chairs and says, “Let’s sit.” Anthony takes the seat closer to the entryway while Steve takes the other. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Steve responds.

“It’s good to see you, Steven.” Anthony starts. It’s hard to believe they started as tentative allies and are now the closest of friends. Throughout the war, they had their differences, especially since Steve was a captain and Anthony was his First Lieutenant. But when the Civil War was coming to a close and the Union began steadily beating the Confederacy, the two men began to see eye to eye and became the strongest of friends. It saddened Steve when Anthony returned to England, but at least he had Margaret, or so he thought.

Steve replies, “Likewise, Anthony. I see you’re getting on well.”

“My wife would have to disagree. I’ve been in the workroom so often, she’s threatened to board the door shut.” Anthony jokes.

“Well either way, you seem perfectly adjusted.” Steve comments.

“Perfection is relative, old friend. You’ll understand when you find it.” Anthony advises wisely and as if on cue, an angel walks through the doorway. Well, not literally, but you are the closest thing to a saint on earth.

With your smooth hands and polished nails, you don’t look like a servant, but for your status, you dressed rather simply. As opposed to a large, decorated dress, you donned a dark, modest gown. You dressed closer to a middle-class maiden than a noblewoman, yet Steve took note that no outfit could diminish your beauty. Instead of the intricate up-dos, he’s seen many high-class women wear, you have your hair down and pulled back.

Anthony notices your entrance and greets, “Y/n, dear!”

Steve knew Anthony favored beautiful women, but he did not expect for him to marry someone so young. Steve’s seen his fair share of older men and young partners, but he didn’t think Anthony would be that kind of man.

Strolling up to Anthony, you greet him lovingly by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Turning to Steve, you acknowledge politely, “Hello, sir. To what name shall I call you?” The moment you address him, Steve forgets every word in the English language. His mouth runs dry and he starts to regret denying Anthony’s tea offer.

Your stunning beauty and air of confidence fluster Steve and he manages to stutter out, “I- I am Captain America Rogers. I mean, Steve Rogers.” Attempting to recover, he clarifies, “I’m from America and I served as a Captain in the Army.”

You laugh lightly and Steve could have sworn an angel acquired its wings. “Well, Captain America. I appreciate the background information, but I figured from your accent that you were not from here.” you quip.

Anthony glares as you and gently scolds, “He is an old friend, y/n. Please be nice.”

You smile softly and tell him, “Oh papa, I hold no malice. It was a simple jest.” You turn to him and say, “But if any offense was taken, I do apologize. I’m aware that my tongue can be quite scathing.”

Steve realizes that Anthony is your father. He feels foolish and a little disgusted at his previous notion. But now that he knows, he can see the resemblance. Not particularly in appearance, but in attitude. You both carry yourselves in the same charming, self-assured way, like you’re the smartest people in the room.

“No need to apologize, miss. I can handle a sharp tongue,” Steve’s formal tone dropping relatively quickly. Your eyebrow quirks and a small smile plays at your lips.

If you were caught off guard, you didn’t show it as you quickly respond, “Good, but do not worry. I can soften my tongue if the situation requires it.” Anthony shoots you another look, but you pay no attention, keeping your eyes on the American. Steve feels your eyes bear into his, but he can not break your gaze. His heart flutters for the first time in what felt like forever.

Anthony clears his throat to break the growing tension. “Y/n, didn’t you say that Miss Natasha was taking you into town?” You turn to your father and smile.

“Why, thank you, father. If it weren’t for your keen memory, I would have gotten a lashing!” you kiss his cheek and walk over to Steve. “I apologize that our meeting had been cut short. I do hope we see each other again,” You kiss him on the cheek too and Steve prays that his face doesn’t burn on the spot.

His eyes follow you as you walk out of the parlor and out the door. “If you wish to court my daughter, all you have to do is ask,” Anthony states in an unamused tone.

Steve’s eyes snap back to the older man and he quickly explains, “Oh no, that is not my intent, Anthony. Besides, she’s your daughter.”

Anthony scoffs and replies, “She’s of marrying age and can do as she pleases. My only request is that you warn me.” Steve tries to counter him, but Anthony stands. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” He gestures to the man at the door and says, “Mr. Jarvis will show you to your room.” With that, Anthony leaves Steve alone with Mr. Jarvis.

Steve quickly learns the routine of Stark’s manor. Without Anthony’s wife, Pepper, and their daughter, Morgan, you and your father mostly kept to yourselves. Anthony stays in his workroom downstairs and would remain for hours on end, only appearing upstairs for meals.

You spend most of your time in the library and occasionally walk the grounds. Steve doesn’t know what restrains him from joining you on your walks, especially since you granted him an invitation during his first dinner.

Instead, he opted to observe you. He’s learned a great deal over the past few days. You chose to wear plain dresses and favored colors on the darker end of the spectrum. You and your father enjoyed battles of wit during meals with most occasions ending in a draw. You were very curious, or at least, toward Steve. You asked him a multitude of questions and even though Steve was happy to answer, Anthony shot your line of questioning down with a quick glare.

You read often, usually books on philosophy and tales of heroism over religion and spirituality. When you read, your lips would get caught between your teeth and you’d occasionally mouth some of the words. Steve could tell when you disagreed with a passage because your smooth forehead would slowly wrinkle as your eyebrows furrowed. Besides meals, the library was the only time Steve would spend with you. But unlike dinner, the two of you would sit in silence, just basking in each other’s company.

Nearly a week into his stay, Steve, out of stupidity or bravery, decides to join you on a walk. When you see him at the doorway, you remark, “Captain America! To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“I decided to take you up on your offer. I hope I am not too late being as it was last week,” he remarks cheekily.

You smile happily, “Oh, do not worry about that, sir. Besides, your invitation was set to expire tomorrow.”

“That’s good news, but I must ask, will that cursed nickname be going away any time soon?” he jokingly asked.

Smiling, you reply, “No, it will not.” Stepping out of the manor, you question, “Shall we go?” Steve nods steps out, moving to your left side.

You start your usual walk around the grounds. The sun beams down on your face making your skin almost glow. Steve’s never been this close and he can see every detail on your face. If he thought you were beautiful from afar, he doesn’t know what to think now.

“How long are you staying here?” you ask, turning to Steve for the first time.

He sighs and absentmindedly replies, “I don’t know, actually.” His answer causes your head to tilt and brow furrow slightly so he reassures, “Don’t fret. While Anthony has granted me an eternal stay, I shall leave before the year ends.”

You shake your head lightly and explain, “Oh, I don’t worry, Captain America. I’m just curious as to why you’re uncertain.” Steve averts his eyes, unable to meet your intense, innocent ones. You seem to read his nervous body language so you change the topic.

“We don’t get visitors very often,” you comment. Steve relaxes a little and you add, “All I know is that you’re an old friend of my father’s.”

He answers the unspoken question by saying, “He was my first lieutenant in the Civil War.”

“Ah, I remember him telling of his time in America,” you remark. Steve’s eyes return to yours. He can see the excitement and eagerness as you ask, “What is it like? America?”

Steve doesn’t know where to begin. From the bustling city life to the beautiful countryside, America is a diverse place. But then the memories come back and Steve hopes you can’t read the flash of sadness that spreads across his face.

“Well, it is very beautiful,” Steve says simply. He can tell by your excited expression that you crave more, so he adds, “In some places, there are hills as far as the eye can see. There are also forests so dense that you cannot get through without a map.”

You seem satisfied with his answer and dreamily add, “I wish I could visit, but father forbids me from going beyond the moors.”

Steve senses your disappointment and tries to cheer you up, “The moors aren’t too bad, Miss y/n.” He looks around at the scenery, searching for something to point out. He stops by the garden and hastily proposes, “The flowers are quite beautiful if you ask me.”

You let out a small laugh at his half-hearted attempt and concede, “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” You sigh a little sadly, remarking, “But it gets quite lonely up here.”

Steve couldn’t control his thought process and lost even more control of his mouth as he asks, “I hope I do not come across as rude when I ask why you have not wed yet.”

He already regrets his intrusion, but luckily, you don’t seem offended. “It isn’t rude, Captain America.” With that, he can see that you are in a joking mood. “Men want a woman with open ears and a closed mouth. Seeing as I have neither, men do not try and pursue me.”

You smile back at him, but unlike your usual smile, it doesn’t reach your eyes. Steve decides not to pry and comments, “While I do agree your mouth is rather liberal, I’d have to disagree about your ears.”

Your smile finally reaches your eyes again and you laugh, “Tell my father that.”

“Well, Anthony never was the most patient listener.” Steve states to which you clearly agree, if your loud and genuine laugh had anything to say about it.

Once your laughter dies down, you turn the subject to him, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Steve questions, raising an eyebrow.

“No wife? Surely a military man such as yourself would have a mistress at least,” you comment curiously. Looking down, Steve smiles and shakes his head.

“Women were mostly found in the tents of upper-class men,” Steve replies ambiguously. He feared that if he dug too deep, it’d only dredge up his past. Maybe he was imagining it, but your knowing look made Steve think you understood his vagueness.

The two of you continued your walk in peaceful silence. You broke the silence by asking, “You mentioned that women were reserved for upper-class men,” Steve nods in confirmation and you continue, “Am I to assume you are not of high status?”

Steve explains, “I was baseborn. In the Army, I quickly rose through the ranks which in turn, granted me a higher status.”

Steve fears your impending judgment, but instead, you go quiet and confess, “I was baseborn, too,” You avert your eyes as if it were a terrible secret.

“How so?” Steve questions, now completely intrigued. When you saw he only held curiosity, you returned to your relaxed state.

“My mother was a village girl. Father had an affair and when grandfather found out, he became furious. Father was forbidden from seeing my mother, but little did he know, that he impregnated her on their final tryst.” you tell, searching for any disgust in Steve’s eye.

Steve tilts his head curiously and asks, “Is that why Anthony came to America?”

You smile at his interest and reply, “Partially. He always wanted to leave, but the death of his parents pushed over them edge. He was only seventeen and didn’t think he could run the business himself. He would have stayed in America if it weren’t for Obadiah Stane.”

“Who?” Steve questions.

“He was the second in line for the company. My father didn’t just leave the house behind, but the business. Father secretly suspects Stane killed his parents, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Where’s Mr. Stane now?” Steve asks.

“He’s in prison for embezzling money.” you reply.

“When Father received word that Stane’s business practices were less than humane, he had to come back. Being the sole heir, father was able to reclaim his title as lord of the house and owner of the company.”

“How did he find you?”

“With his father gone, he decided to reunite with his former love, but when he discovered her dead and me in her place...” You look off to the distance as if you’re trying to find the right wording, “He was surprised, to say the least.”

Lightening up, you add, “Luckily, he met Pepper shortly after and they wed quickly. Then, they had Morgan and they lived happily ever after,” you end a little sarcastically.

Steve hums in understanding and asks, “Surely, it was difficult for you to adjust to life here.”

“It still is. I’ve lived at the manor for nearly five years and I still forget frivolous things like which spoon is which.” Steve laughs heartily in agreement and you join in at a quieter tone.

“It is rather odd, isn’t it? A spoon is a spoon, what difference does it make!” he exclaims. This makes you burst into a very unladylike laugh, but you don’t care and neither does Steve. For once, it feels like you both met someone who understands you.

After the first walk around the moors, Steve has joined you on every other one since. Your topics ranged from philosophy to politics. Although he never cared about politics, Steve found himself captivated by your ideas. It saddens him a little that the world may never experience your brilliant mind.

To Anthony’s delight or dismay, you wordlessly invited Steve to your usual dinner banter. Although he is constantly left speechless and outwitted, Steve enjoys being talked into a corner. He loves the small smile and look in your eyes when you know that you have someone beat intellectually.

Tonight’s discussion had something to do with Descartes. Steve got lost the minute you brought up dualism and metaphysics. You’re in the middle of explaining how mental phenomena are non-physical when Anthony interrupts, “Mr. Rumlow will be joining us this Easter.” Your teasing smile drops and is replaced by a scarily sober expression.

Through gritted teeth, you ask, “Why?” Reading your body language, Steve can tell there’s something more beneath the surface.

“It’s business, dear.” Tony sighs exasperatedly. Steve can’t tell if he’s annoyed with you, the mysterious Mr. Rumlow, or both.

“And for how long?” You start cutting your food more aggressively than before.

“He failed to mention it, but I presume a quite long time,” Anthony responds and you scowl.

“May I be excused? I feel rather ill,” you announce but leave before waiting for a response. Steve feels an urge to follow you but is stopped in his place when his friend speaks.

“Do not mind her. She sees Rumlow as more of a fiend than a man,” Anthony says absentmindedly once you leave the room.

Trying to hold back any snark, Steve comments, “I could see that,” Anthony doesn’t reply, but from his small smirk, Steve knows that his sarcasm bled through.

They finish their dinner in silence. Once his plate is empty, Anthony gets up and leaves without saying a word. Steve glances at your mostly full plate and figures you must be hungry. Eating one last bite, he scoops up your plate and walks up the steps to your room.

After a few faint knocks, you open the door. You still hold the look of contempt that you had at dinner, but at the sight of Steve or the food, you brighten up. “Thank you, Steve. I am absolutely famished, but I did not want to face my father again.”

You move away from the doorway and subtly invite him in. He hands you the plate and you sit on the edge of your bed. Steve pulls the chair from under your desk and turns to face you. While you eat, he asks, “In fear of angering you more, may I ask why Rumlow’s name caused such trouble?”

You set your plate down and tell Steve sincerely, “Our families have been business partners for decades. I don’t think father is too fond of him either, but he has to keep acquaintance with him.”

Taking another bite, you continue, “His wife died years ago, and ever since, he’s looked for a wife in yours truly.”

“I take it he doesn’t handle rejection very well?” Steve suggests. For the first time since your sudden exit, you smile.

“No, he does not. Don’t get me wrong; rejection can be delightful, but it can only happen so many times before it becomes tedious,” you respond, lightening up even more. Steve gives a short laugh and gets up to leave so you can finish your meal. You ask quietly, “Can you stay?” Even adding, “Please?” Steve sits back down wordlessly and keeps you company.

“Y/n!” the little girl squealed as she ran from her mother and to you. Picking her up off her feet, you wrap Morgan into a hug.

“How was the visit to your grandmother’s?” you ask happily. Steve hasn’t seen you this genuinely happy and giddy. He can see that you care about Morgan deeply. Today, you chose a lighter-colored dress with more embellishments and a larger petticoat than usual. Steve assumed it was Morgan’s favorite color since your dress matched the ribbon in her hair.

When you see Pepper approaching, you set Morgan down and greet your step-mother. “Pepper! We have missed you.” you exclaim, hugging her more reservedly.

“Please tell me that Anthony spent most of his time outside the workroom,” Pepper jokingly begs, even though she probably knows the answer.

You laugh politely and reply, “I would, but you know I mustn't lie, step-mother.”

Pulling away from you, Pepper turns to Steve and asks, “You must be Captain Rogers. Anthony wrote that you were staying with us.” She plants two light kisses on each of Steve’s cheeks.

He’s about to tell her to call him by his first name when you speak up, “Please, step-mother, he goes by Captain America.” He looks at you and sees the mischief in your eyes.

Pepper glances at Steve curiously and he explains, “It is a wretched nickname she has given me.” Pepper nods understandingly, knowing her step-daughter’s quirks.

Morgan asks impulsively, “Are you courting my sister?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Y/n bursts out laughing, dropping any attempt at civility.

Pepper can’t decide who to scold first, so she chastises, “Morgan, dear! We do not ask people questions like that,” Pepper tells Steve, “I do apologize, Captain. She is not even five years old.”

“No need, Mrs. Stark.” Steve dismisses with a wave of his hand.

You speak up, “Besides,” Crouching down to Morgan’s level, you whisper something to her. Steve strains his ear to listen, but can’t make out a single word. Pepper gives you a look when you stand back up.

Instead of prying, Pepper decides, “Let’s get inside before you corrupt Morgan any further.”

“Oh, do not worry, dear step-mother. There will be plenty of time for that,” you say cheerily. Morgan and Pepper stroll inside while Jarvis brings their bags inside. When the door closes, you tell Steve, “I assume you want to know what I whispered in Morgan’s ear.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Steve jokes back. You smile and move toward him. Going on the tips of your toes to be near his height, you look like you’re about to spill.

Pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, you whisper, “It’s a secret between sisters, Captain.” Moving back to the bottoms of your feet, you turn toward the door, but not before giving him a cheeky wink. Oh no, Steve Rogers is falling in love.

Morgan and Pepper’s return seemed to lift your spirits enough to distract you from Rumlow’s impending arrival. You squeezed time with Morgan into your schedule, consequently lessening the time you and Steve spent alone. He didn’t mind, after all, she is your sister, but Steve couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

Luckily, Morgan has grown quite fond of him. She includes him with as often as she can. Today’s activity is a tea party.

“Miss y/n, will you pour the tea?” Morgan asks, imitating her mother’s posh accent and miserably failing. You smile and rise from your seat.

“Anything for you, duchess,” you respond. Picking up the teapot, you walk around the table.

Moving to fill Morgan’s teacup first, you begin to pour when she holds up a hand and commands, “Stop, please.” You and Steve struggle to contain your laughter as Morgan, with her pinkie in the air, lifts the cup to her mouth.

She holds back from making a face and announces, “Delicious!”

“Why thank you, duchess.” You walk over to Steve and pour tea into his cup. You’re so close that Steve catches a whiff of your perfume. The closeness makes it hard for him to concentrate. He knows you can feel him looking, but don’t say anything, sending him a small, cheeky smile.

You pour your own cup of tea and before you could raise your cup, the clock on the wall chimes loudly. Turning to your sister, you question, “Duchess Morgan, don’t you have studies to attend to?”

Morgan pouts and replies, “I don’t need them.” You laugh heartily and crouch next to her.

You reason with her, “Morgan, your studies are very important. You don’t want me to become smarter than you, do you?” She concedes and hops off her chair before running out of the room.

Watching her leave to make sure she doesn’t run back, you stand up and sit back in your chair. You take a sip of tea and notice Steve is looking at you dotingly. “What?” you ask, laughing into your cup.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re a really good sister.” Steve comments. You scoff lightly at his compliment.

“Thank you, Steve. But it’s not difficult when she’s such a good kid,” you reply and Steve nods in agreement. For some reason, Steve can’t help but imagine you as a mother. You’d probably read to them before bed and when you were done, you’d go to him. The two of you would share a bed like husband and wife and you’d never have to worry about pompous suitors or ridiculous social expectations. He’d hold you in his arms like he yearned to do the moment you met.

Steve’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears cursing at the other end of the table. He looks up and sees your skirt covered in tea. “Are you alright?” Steve asks.

You laugh out of embarrassment and reply, “Yes, I just spilled tea all over my skirt. Can you hand me the cloth over there?” You point to the towel near him and Steve grabs it. Instead of handing it to you, he squats in front of you and dabs your skirt clean. If you had any protests, you didn’t say them as you sat patiently and let him dab your lap.

Steve continues to clean in silence when you interrupt absentmindedly, “You know, Morgan is one of the few people who don’t look down on me.” Steve’s hand stops and he looks up at you. You’re looking away from him and you have a distant look on your face.

“Why is that?” Steve asks, causing you to laugh lightly.

“Well, how couldn’t they? I’m a peasant girl born out of wedlock.” you roll your eyes, but Steve could see some hurt behind them. He places the towel on the floor and moves his hand so it’s covering yours, which are resting on your abdomen. You don’t retreat, which surprises Steve.

The intimate moment is broken up by Mr. Jarvis walking into the room and announcing, “Miss Stark, your father requests your presence.”

It’s a fair, sunny day so after days of begging from Morgan, Anthony finally conceded and decided that the whole family will attend the Spring Awakening Fair. Stepping onto the grounds, you look ethereal in your light, flowy dress.

“Let’s go before father buys Morgan the whole fair,” you announce, grabbing Steve’s hand without any hesitation. Steve feels his heart do a flip before he follows you away from Pepper, Anthony, and Morgan. Strolling around, you light up when you see a medium’s booth.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve asks skeptically, “You believe in psychics?”

“Nope,” you reply happily and before Steve could process your answer, you pull Steve’s hand and half-drag Steve to the booth.

“Hello, miss. Would you and your betrothed like to have your auras read?” the medium asks. Before Steve could correct her, you interject.

“Yes, please.” You sit down and Steve follows suit.

“Hold each other’s hands and stare into each other’s eyes.” the medium instructs. Steve grabs your other hand and turns to face you. He’s never allowed himself to look at you for so long, but now that he’s technically supposed to, he gives himself a pass just this once. Steve takes in every detail of your face so that he can remember every feature when he goes to sleep. Maybe if he collects the perfect picture, you will invade his dreams more often.

“I’m sensing...” the medium starts and Steve could see you struggling to hold back laughter. Luckily, the woman’s eyes are closed as she continues, “You miss, have an indigo aura. Yes, yes. You are a kind and intuitive person, who values intelligence and love. You seek peace in your life and while you’re a little vulnerable, your partner can help with that.”

Steve didn’t believe in psychics, but that was a pretty accurate assertion. So that the psychic can’t hear, Steve mouths, “That was quite accurate, was it not?” You scrunch your nose and shake your head. Before you could mouth back, the medium continues.

“You sir, have a blue aura. I see...” the medium says, “Mostly royal blue, with hints of dark blue. You are open-minded and generous, but the hints of dark blue show that you are scared.” You tilt your head in confusion and Steve shrugs.

“Something has happened in your life to cause distrust and a need to control. Perhaps your partner could help clear the dark blue from your aura. You two have very compatible auras. Sometimes, you miss, will feel overwhelmed, but your partner’s calming aura shows that he will be able to soothe you. I expect the two of you to have a long and loving relationship.” the medium finishes and opens her eyes.

You notice that she opened her eyes so you nod enthusiastically and say, “Thank you! That was very eye-opening.” You drop a few coins into the jar and walk away from the booth.

Once you are out of ear-shot, Steve asks, “Do you believe it?”

“Hm?” you ask, initially confused, then you realize, “Oh, the medium? No, no.” you shake your head as if you’re trying to get rid of the notion itself. “The idea that auras follow us around is illogical.” Steve hummed in agreement, but if he squinted, he could almost see an indigo halo around your head.

“Is that y/n y/ln?” a voice says behind Steve. He turns and sees a young man. Steve wonders how he knows you but judging from the look on your face, you aren’t pleased to see him. The man approaches and you quickly don a fake smile.

“Aldrich Killian!” you announce overenthusiastically. “It’s been so long.” Aldrich pulls you into a hug that lingers too long in Steve’s opinion. He finally pulls away after what felt like hours.

“It really has. How are you?” the man asks. He’s small and fidgety like he’s scared of the mere existence of you.

“I am amazing. May I remind you my surname is Stark?” you ask teasingly, but Steve can see the tension beneath your eyes.

“Yes, how could I forget! You became your father’s charity case.” Killian replies, smile bright as before, but his words still cut sharply.

The insult doesn’t phase you as you match his tone, “Well I’d rather be his charity case than be stuck with the likes of you.”

Aldrich doesn’t respond and instead turns to Steve. He asks, “And who is this?”

“Captain Steven Rogers.” he introduces, maintaining his stoicism. Aldrich grabs Steve’s hand with both hands and shakes it aggressively.

“It is great to meet you, sir.” Aldrich states. After a few violent shakes, he finally releases Steve’s hand.

He apologizes, “I’m sorry for taking up your time, y/n.”

He starts to walk away and you call, “Hey, Killian!” He turns back around and you drop your smile. “Please give Steven’s watch and my necklace back.” Steve looks down at his wrist and realizes that his watch really is gone. Aldrich comes back and Steve watches as Aldrich’s sheepish act disappears and is replaced by contempt. You hold out your hand and Killian drops the jewelry into your palm.

“See you’ve taken on the family business,” you taunt, “How is your father, by the way?” Aldrich scowls and Steve assumes that whatever happened isn’t good. Your hand on Steve’s wrist snaps him back to attention. You hold his wrist up so you can put his watch back on.

“You’ve gotten better, Killian. But your hugs still linger too long and you shake men’s hands too fiercely.” you comment absentmindedly as you clasp Steve’s watch around his wrist.

“Oh, y/n. I only linger that long for you,” Aldrich comments creepily. Steve sees your smile falter slightly before returning, a little smaller.

“Whatever you thought we had simply didn’t exist.” You grab Steve’s arm tightly and tell Killian, “We better head back to the manor,” You turn around to leave Aldrich alone before he gets one final word in.

Killian yells behind your back, “You can put on a fancy dress and expensive jewelry, but you’ll always be one of us.”

You hand Steve your necklace and ask, “Can you put this on for me?” Steve nods and you turn your back to him. He finds it harder than it should be to clasp the necklace, but the intense smell of your perfume is slowly overwhelming his senses.

To ground himself, Steve asks, “How did you know he stole from us?”

“It’s a common swindler’s trick.” you state. You feel the chain drop onto your neck and you turn to face Steve. You continue, “You greet the person enthusiastically to give yourself time to steal. While you’re stealing, you distract them with flattery and small talk. They don’t even realize they were robbed and by the time they do, you’re far gone.”

Steve is stunned by your extensive knowledge and bluntly says, “You know a lot about that.”

You laugh and admit, “Let’s just say, I have some experience.” You, a thief? He could just imagine a younger you going around picking pockets, distracting people with your effortless charm.

Steve furrows his brows and asks, “Were you like him?”

“Oh, heavens no. At least, not that bad. I knew who to steal from who not to.”

“And who deserved theft?” Steve asks, not out of judgment but actual curiosity.

“The usual. Rich arseholes who treated anyone of a lower socioeconomic status like dirt.” you answer casually.

“So you were a Robin Hood?” Steve jokes.

“Sure, but only for a short while. When my grandmother found out, she was furious and banned me from meeting Killian. In hindsight, that was one of the best decisions she’s ever made, but at the time, I was heartbroken.” you explain.

“What made you change your mind about him?” Steve questions.

“I saw the vile ways he treated women he sought after.” you answer simply. There is probably more to that response, but Steve decides he shouldn’t pry.

Instead, he nods and holds his arm out. “Come on, let’s trick some more psychics.” You smile and grab his arm.

“Y/n, dear. Rumlow will be here any minute. Are you ready?” Anthony calls upstairs. Steve’s standing beside him at the bottom of the stairs. The days after the fair had been amazing. You and Steve spent incalculable amounts of time together. He was surprised that no one mentioned it since you aren’t officially courting. Your spirits were extremely high, until this morning when you remembered who was arriving.

“Yes, father. Be down soon.” you respond back. Anthony huffs exasperatedly and goes toward the parlor, leaving Steve alone at the base of the stairs. He hears shuffling and a couple thumps upstairs, before you yell, “Okay, I’m ready.” he turns and his breath is taken away.

Steve Rogers is a simple man. He’s straightforward, hard-working, and sharp. These traits helped him through school and shot him up the ranks in the Army. He became one of the youngest captains in the Union army. He battled Confederates, god damn it!

But... you’re so beautiful. Sauntering down the stairs, you look like an angel coming down from heaven. Steve takes in your appearance. Your dress is a deep green color that matches the jeweled choker around your neck. The large skirt is a stark contrast to your usual demure day dresses and Steve’ realized yet again that your beauty is ever-present. No matter your wardrobe, the essence of you shines through. Your hair is higher than normal, with elegant curls resting on your shoulders. The chandelier above your head only adds to the natural glow of your aura. He could hear the light tapping of your heels on the grand marble stairs until you took your final step before him.

“Hi,” you greet meekly as if you’re the one that’s intimidated.

Steve, in his rather plain-looking dress clothes, replies, “Hi,” Steve’s eyes linger a little longer than seems appropriate, but you don’t appear to mind, in fact, doing the same thing in return. Your silent exchange is broken by the sound of horses outside.

“Sir, Mr. Rumlow is here.” Jarvis calls, alerting your father who strolls in from the parlor. Steve catches a look of disgust grace your face before it quickly changes into a wide, fake smile when the door opens.

“Mr. Rumlow.” Antony greets, holding out his hand.

“Mr. Stark.” Rumlow shakes his hand in return. As they exchange pleasantries, Steve looks the man up and down. He looks to be about Steve’s age, maybe a tad older. He has harsh, dark features that only further Steve’s already tainted view of the man.

“And who must this be?” Rumlow asks, turning to Steve.

“Captain Steven Rogers,” he responds and Steve could’ve sworn he heard you chuckle quietly after using his rank. Maybe that was low of him, but he was still quite wary of Mr. Rumlow.

“Pleasure to meet you.” The exchange is short before the man turns to you. Almost like a wolf who’s spotted his prey, Rumlow’s eyes darken and his slightly genial smile resembles more of a snarl.

“Miss Stark. Why, you look more and more beautiful every time I see you.” Rumlow compliments. You give a quick curtsy, smile dropping ever so slightly. Steve’s hands ball into a fist quickly before he forces himself to relax his hand. “I am surprised a man hasn’t made a bride of you yet.” Steve had to will his feet to stay or else the dinner party would have ended embarrassingly quick.

“Well, a woman’s role isn’t just to marry, is it?” you reply, still holding that bright, wide smile. Rumlow laughs as if you said a joke, but Steve knows the sincerity behind your words. His disgusting laugh further cements Steve’s idea that Rumlow is not a good man.

Anthony, seeming to sense the burgeoning tension, announces, “Dinner will be ready shortly. Shall we?” Everyone follows him into the dining room, with Rumlow charging forward before anyone even had the chance to move.

Entering the dining room, Steve sees that Rumlow has already taken the spot beside Anthony. Steve sits across from Rumlow and you sit beside him. After the wine is poured, Steve grabs his chalice and takes a slow sip. He watches as Rumlow takes one long swig before requesting more. You and Steve share a look of both amusement and concern, knowing where the night is headed.

Anthony and Rumlow start to talk business so to save yourself from boredom, you talk to Steve. “I wish Morgan were here.”

“Yes, if it weren’t for her cursed bedtime.” Steve replies jokingly to test what mood you are in. You roll your eyes, signaling to Steve that you’re at least somewhat yourself.

“I know Pepper isn’t much of an admirer of Rumlow either, but it’s a shame that she was granted an invitation out of this.” you admit a little glumly.

“Well fear not, Y/n. You still have me.” Steve encourages and you shoot a smile back. You and Steve continue to talk quietly until your conversation is intruded by plates being placed in front of the two of you.

Rumlow’s lack of table manners is extremely apparent as he gorges on the food. You stifle a laugh by lifting your napkin to your lips, but Steve catches you and bites his lip to contain his laughter. Dinner is fairly uneventful, while Anthony and Rumlow continue to talk and you and Steve share stories. It’s almost as if the two of you are alone on a date until you’re interrupted by your father.

“Y/n, after dessert, would you mind showing Mr. Rumlow around the manor?” Anthony tells, more of a command than a request.

Attempting to keep your tone light, you reply, “But father, hasn’t he been here before. I’m sure the manor hasn’t changed too drastically since he’s been here last.”

Before Anthony could respond, Rumlow interrupts, “Oh but Miss Y/n. I would love to refresh my mind on all the beauties this place has to offer.” Something about his wording and his intense gaze toward you angered Steve and he felt his grip tighten around his fork.

Pretending to give in and not still be utterly repulsed by the idea, you concede, “Well, okay. I look forward to it.” Rumlow nods and continues down to his dinner plate. Steve looks over at you, but your gaze is down. Steve decides to leave it alone when he feels a soft hand reach for his own. You still aren’t looking over at him, but your brow is furrowed slightly as you eat. Steve encompasses your hand in his and it appears to ease the tension slightly.

Steve doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of eating, opting to hold his silverware with his left hand instead. The other men don’t appear to notice, as Rumlow’s mind is only on the excursion he was promised. Sadly, after dessert is taken away, Steve has to release your hand as you and Rumlow leave the dining room.

Watching you leave, Steve gets an uneasy feeling and quietly excuses himself before walking out. He tries outside first and it doesn’t take long before he’s alerted of your presence.

“Get your hands off me you loathly poltroon!” Steve hears you yell. He turns the corner and sees Rumlow grasping your wrist tightly with no intent to let go. Without thinking, Steve runs toward you and shoves Rumlow away.

“You disgusting rapscallion! Is that how you treat a lady?” Steve bellows angrily and punches Rumlow in the face. Turning to you, he softens instantly and questions, “Are you okay, Y/n?”

You break your disgusted look at Rumlow and tell Steve, “Yes, let’s just please leave.” Steve ushers you away. You don’t say anything as you stomp towards the gazebo.

Steve could feel the anger emanating from your body. For the second time, he asks, “Are you sure you are okay? Because that man is-”

“Do you know why filthy men like Rumlow seek me out?” you interrupt angrily. Steve’s never seen you so mad, but now he knows to never cross you.

Continuing, you shout, “It’s not for my brains or my character, but my dowry. To them, I’m just a prize to be won! Did you know that my estate is worth a small country? But since I’m a woman, all of my fortune will be a man’s, and every single one I have come across thinks it will be them.”

Once you get that off your chest, you start to settle down. Sitting down on a bench, you hang your head a little and state, “All anyone sees is an inheritance with a pretty face.”

Not knowing what to say, Steve removes his jacket and sits beside you on the bench. Your once intricate up-do is falling around your face, which is good in Steve’s opinion since he never liked that hairstyle in the first place. The bottom of your skirt is muddy from walking through the grass. “I’m sorry.” Steve meekly apologizes while handing you his jacket. You thank him quietly and throw it around your shoulders.

Removing your shoes spitefully, you scoff, “It’s not your fault all upper-class men are greedy little pricks that only care about their appearances.” Steve lets out a noise, resembling a snort more than a laugh. He knew that far too well from his time in the Army. Even though the higher rank came with privileges, Steve occasionally wished he was still a private, realizing there were too many poncy majors and captains.

“If it’s any consolation, I think there’s a lot more to you than your money.” He hears you sniffle, but your eye line remains down.

“Thank you, Steve.” you reply, eyes still down and watery. Your head hangs down in dejection.

Sensing your sadness, Steve asks, “Would you like to hear why I actually came to England?” Your eyes move up to his and you sit up straight, nodding quietly. Steve sighs and begins his story, “During the war, I met a woman named Margaret Carter. We had a brief courtship and married quickly, but since I was mostly in battle, we hardly saw each other.”

Steve sees that you’re actively listening so he continues, “I thought I had met my soulmate, but I was young. A fool, really.” Steve looked down, finding it difficult to continue the story.

He clears his throat and tells, “Marriage would not be easy and I knew that. But I did not predict its difficulty until I truly experienced it.”

“Did you fight?” you ask quietly, breaking your silence.

“No, but that would have been preferable. War affects everyone differently, y/n. You have to understand that. I was withdrawn, avoidant and I- I just became a different man and...” Steve trails off, scared of your reaction.

You place your hand on his and assure, “I promise, Steven. Nothing you can say, could change the way I see you.” You’re listening intently, eyes wide with eagerness to hear his story.

“I was away very often. After the assassination of Lincoln, I was offered a position as head of security for the next president. She said it was okay, but...” Steve feels you hold his hand tighter, grounding him. “During my long bouts of absence, it was only natural that she found someone else. She continued her tryst for nearly two years before she informed me.”

“How did you react?” You ask quietly, your faint voice cutting through Steve’s foggy recollection.

“That’s the issue. I didn’t react much at all. I simply left and stayed with my close friend until the divorce settled. It was long and tiring, taking over two years. Nobody knew the true reason for the separation as we feared out tarnished reputations. Months later, I learned from an old friend that Peggy was to engaged to be married with that man. I knew I couldn’t be in the same place when they wed, so I left.” Steve stayed quiet and you followed suit for a couple moments.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize, like you were the problem. Sympathy etched onto your face and soft, delicate features turned down with sadness.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve reminded with a small smile to lighten the mood a bit. You bit your lip, drawing attention to them and reminding Steve just how much he yearns to kiss you.

“I know, but still. I don’t see how a man like you deserved such hardship.” you shed a tear and Steve is touched by your empathy toward him. Gently wiping the tear off your cheek, Steve boldly keeps his hand rested on your face. You don’t seem to mind, looking up at him through your slightly wet lashes.

“But if it weren’t for that trouble, I would have never met you.” As if the spirit of Cupid himself possessed Steve, he boldly confesses, “Darling, I would endure ten times the hardship if it meant I could meet you.” Steve felt a pang of fear, worried that he came on too strong and risked losing your friendship. But if the small gasp and softening of your eyes indicated anything, then you liked it. Now’s your chance, Steve. You look so sweet, so raw, so perfect.

Steve feels the atmosphere shift as he leans toward your face, his thumb softly brushing your lip. You mirror his body language and lean towards him too. As if the universe were pulling the two of you together, Steve could feel himself fall into your sweetness; your auras melding with each other. Steve is inches away from your lips when he hears the clanking of hooves in the distance and instantly, the magic dissipates.

The two of you break apart instantly as if nothing was about to happen. You smooth out your dress and clear your throat. Steve wants to stay. He really does, but he knows the kinds of rumors that could emerge if he’s alone with you any longer.

“We better go inside,” Steve suggests and you nod. Getting up, you leave the gazebo before him and he follows suit.

Much to Steve’s delight, Rumlow immediately left for home. After talking to an angry and frustrated Anthony, Steve walks up to his room. Walking up the stairs, he glances at your room and is almost tempted to go in, but he forces himself to turn the other way.

He can’t believe he almost kissed you. You were so close and your lips felt so smooth under his finger. Oh, how he wishes they were against his own. Steve wonders if he will ever have another chance or perhaps, you may try to forget it altogether. Steve feels like such a fool for letting himself fall so hard. But how couldn’t he when you’re just so... you.

Steve hears a knock on the door and answers, “Come in.” When he sees you step through, he stands to his feet. His jacket is slung around your right arm. You’ve changed into your nightdress which is covered by your robe to preserve your modesty. Still, Steve makes a point to keep his eyes on yours.

“Here’s your jacket.” you say meekly, still standing by the door. Steve walks over to grab it from you. His fingers brush against yours and he yearns to lace his in yours but refrains from doing so.

“You could have waited till morning to return it.” Steve states honestly, trying to not jump to conclusions as to why you came at such a late hour.

“I know,” you reply simply. Steve hangs the coat on the coat hanger beside you and closes the door, just in case anyone happens to walk by. You’re still standing as if you’re expecting something.

Steve stands before you, but you don’t retreat, instead, looking up at Steve. “Rumlow has left for town,” you inform him. He knows and you know that he does, but he assumes you only said that to break the palpable tension.

“Yes, I heard he sent for a carriage the moment he hit the ground,” Steve half-jokes. You let out a short laugh, one to show him you read the humor but it was enough to tell him you didn’t feel it. He can feel your uneasiness from the way your hands are fidgeting to the constant flickers of your gaze to the ground. Your usual confidence is replaced with insecurity and unsureness.

“Shall we talk about what was about to happen?” you question. Thank the heavens that you are the one who brought it up, for Steve doesn’t think he has the assuredness to do it himself.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Steve remarks. He’s about a foot away from you, but he could feel himself yearn to move closer. “I hope I did not bring you discomfort. I simply had to ease the weight on my soul,”

You shake your head and respond, “No, Steven, it was welcome really. I just wish we weren’t interrupted.” Your candidness startles him slightly. While you’ve never been mistrustful, he’s never seen you this open.

“Those damn horses,” Steve says, lightness entering his voice. You smile the widest he’s seen you smile since Rumlow arrived.

“Yes, if it weren’t for those wretched creatures...” you drift off as if there is a thought in your mind that you’re too reserved to say out loud. Steve takes a step towards you and brings your hands up to his. You gladly take them and Steve feels your delicate fingers slip into his perfectly like they were always meant to be there.

“May I do this?” Steve asks, almost like he’s asking himself. You nod, biting the corner of your lip lightly. You look like you’re having an inner battle of sorts and before Steve could decipher the turmoil, he feels your hands grip his shirt and pull him towards you. Steve realizes just in time as you capture his lips with yours.

The kiss is desperate and heated, but not devoid of love and yearning. Steve feels like his whole life has led up to this and in a way it had. He moves his hands down towards your waist and pulls you flush to his body. You let out a startled gasp, but continue to kiss him as passionately as before. Your hands are still gripping his shirt harshly, but he couldn’t care less. He never liked this shirt very much. You pull away a little to catch your breath. Your cheeks are flushed and lips are a little plumper and Steve can’t stop the pride from swelling in his chest at the thought that it’s his doing.

“I apologize. That wasn’t very lady like,” you tell him breathily, smoothing your hands over his shirt. He may or may not appreciate the way your hands linger over his chest for a few extra seconds.

Steve smiles and says, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t really care.” He reconnects your lips with the same vigor as when you initiated it.

The next morning, Steve wakes in his bed alone. He wanted to let you stay the night, but he knew the uproar that would be caused if your lady’s maid found an empty bed. Walking down to breakfast, Steve sees that you’ve made it down first and have already begun eating. Looking up from your eggs benedict, you give him a small, knowing smile which he returns. Luckily your father doesn’t notice anything as he continues to read the paper.

Steve takes his usual seat across you as a full plate is set in front of him. He starts to eat, occasionally sneaking glances toward you. He can’t get the image of your speckled pink cheeks and wet lips out of his mind and he hopes he never does.

With about two-thirds of his plate empty, Steve hears a sharp knock on the door, followed by the door opening. He can make out Jarvis ask, “Mr. Parker?” before he hears footsteps come toward them while Jarvis continues, “Sir, they are dining at the moment, if you would wait-” Before Jarvis could finish his statement, a young man enters the dining room. He looks to be about your age, maybe a bit younger. Judging by the instant joy on your face, you know him well.

You immediately stand up and exclaim, “Peter!” Your fork almost clattering on the ground in the process. You have no hesitation when you run over to the boy, whose arms are open and inviting. Steve watches as Peter wraps you in an embrace. Guiltily, he feels a pang of jealousy when he sees you in the young man’s arms, but forces the feeling away.

“Y/n, I’ve missed you!” Peter replies happily and releases you. Steve’s displeasure must be apparent because he catches Anthony smirking beside him.

“I’ve missed you, too. When did you come in? How is Cambridge?” you ask excitedly. Your giddiness is apparent as you fire questions at Peter, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too! I took the first train from Cambridge the moment break started,” Peter rambles happily, “As for school, it’s truly amazing, y/n. The classes are rigorous and I’ve met the smartest men.”

“None smarter than me, I hope.” you jest, and Peter laughs along. The two of you seem really close. Steve can’t help but wonder if there’s more beneath the surface. You said that no man was courting you, but maybe it’s because you were waiting.

“Of course not. I’ll never meet a person with more wit than you.” Peter compliments. Anthony clears his throat behind you and Peter turns to his mentor.

“Oh, except you, Mister Stark.” he tries to recover, but Anthony doesn’t buy it. Nonetheless, he hugs the boy reservedly, a stark contrast to your embrace. Steve, who only stood up out of courtesy, feels like a stranger witnessing a family reunion until the boy turns to him.

“Captain Rogers!” Peter exclaims, quickly walking over to Steve. He grasps his hand and gushes, “I am a huge admirer. Your siege of Fort Beauregard is simply inspiring.” He’s shaking Steve’s hand wildly and if it weren’t for the underlying feeling of jealousy, he’d find it endearing.

“Why, thank you.” Steve replies curtly, causing your eyes to flicker over to him. You raise an eyebrow, seemingly suspicious to Steve’s behavior, but Peter doesn’t appear to notice.

“So, where are you staying?” Anthony asks. Peter releases Steve’s hand and turns to his mentor.

The boy’s face goes red and he stammers, “I-I thought I could stay here. I apologize for not writing ahead. My excitement got the better of me and I figured that a surprise would be enjoyable, but I see how this could be abrupt and uncalled for and I understand if you wish to have me leave, but my aunt-” He’s caught off by Anthony’s laugh.

“I only jest, Peter. I forget about your testy nerves. Of course, you may stay.” Anthony assures as Peter’s chest falls in relief.

“Shall I show him to his room?” Jarvis asks, standing at the doorway.

“No need, I’m finished with breakfast. I will do it. Come, Peter.” Anthony beckons the boy, who immediately deserts his position in front of Steve and goes to the older man’s side in a matter of seconds. They leave and Jarvis follows behind them.

“You can stop clenching the tablecloth, Captain. Peter left.” you joke, turning your attention to Steve. He looks down at his hands and sees the white fabric bunched between his fingers.

“I wasn’t.” Steve responds meekly, sitting back down. Scraping his plate, he clears his throat and says, “So, um, Peter is a nice fellow.” You burst out laughing and walk over to Steve.

“Are you jealous?” you ask teasingly. Steve rolls his eyes to contain his annoyance at how right you are.

“No, I’m just curious about your relationship with him.” Steve says. It’s quite obvious that he’s full of it, but you have mercy on him and avoid further teasing.

“He was my best friend in the village. When father found me, I convinced him to help Peter with his education. He’s quite bright, but sometimes acts like a total dolt.” you explain. Steve eases a little at your explanation.

“So, you’ve never considered courting him?” Steve asks sheepishly and you laugh again.

“No, of course not! Besides, he’s engaged to Miss Jones.” you tell him. Steve fully relaxes into his seat. “Also...” you start, taking the seat next to Steve and turning to face him. “A different man has stolen my heart.”

“Oh, and who must that be?” Steve plays along.

“His name is Captain America,” you tell him and Steve gives you a pointed look, which you ignore. “He’s strong, smart, funny.”

“Is he handsome?” Steve turns slightly so that he can face you head-on.

“Devastatingly so,” you reply. Steve takes a quick glance around the room to see if you’re really alone before capturing your lips with his. The kiss is brief and sweet, unlike last night’s passionate affair, but it still affects his heart the same.

It’s a lazy day spent under the large oak tree. At mid-day, the weather has decided to give its mercy, holding back its usual treacherous winds and low temperatures that accompany spring.

Your head is resting on Steve’s lap as you read, your knees propped up and your book resting on your royal blue skirt. Steve strokes your hair gently, occasionally brushing over the loosely tied indigo ribbon. His navy jacket is discarded a few feet away from him and his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

The two of you have announced your courtship to the family last week, although it has felt it’s gone on since Steve first arrived. You’ve stolen his heart, whether you intended to or not. Steve never thought he could be so smitten with a person, but how could he not be. Your charm and beauty grow tenfold every time he’s with you. And now that he knows you share the feeling, he has no hesitations in the showing of his affections.

“Come to America with me.” Steve says, speaking for the first time in a half-hour.

“Pardon?” you ask as if you can’t believe the words he just uttered. You sit up and face Steve. Closing your book, you move your full attention to him.

“Come to America.” Steve repeats. “I have some business I have to attend to and you’ve always said you wanted to go.”

“Yes, but Steve. What would people say if an unmarried man and woman went away together?” you ask, not caring yourself but knowing the weight of everyone’s judgment would be too great to bear.

“But we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Y/n, I have loved you since the moment we met and it would be an honor if you made me your husband.” Your jaw looks like it’s about to approach the floor, so he continues.

“We could build a house on the plot of land down the road so you can still be by Morgan. It would not be as extravagant as this, but it would be enough.” Steve finishes hurriedly. You’re still silently gawking and Steve’s heart starts to rise anxiously. “My dear, please say something so I don’t think I’ve gone mad.”

“Oh Steve, I’d love to!” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against your body. With your face buried in his neck, you confess, “You have brought me more joy in these past months than in all my years.”

Steve moves away to face you. The smile on your face is unmatched and his heart soars at the idea that you will be his forever. “I love you, my dear.”

You lean closer so that your foreheads are touching. Whispering against his lips, you retort, “I love you the most.” Before Steve could protest, he feels you grab his neck lightly and press your lips against his. Steve cups your cheek gently as he kisses you back. The taste of herbal tea and the smell of your perfume invades his senses. He’ll never get sick of kissing you.

The two of you go inside and announce your engagement to the family. The celebration dominates the rest of the day and unbeknownst to Steve, his dark blue jacket still lays beneath the oak tree and it was never seen again.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction

65 notes · View notes

thezodiacqueen11 · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Ariana

“I had the dream again, well the nightmare. Possibly the most traumatizing nightmare I’ve had in my 31 years of living. Aren’t I too old to be having nightmares about burning to death?” Ariana paused waiting for a response from her therapist. “I guess not.”

“I’m standing in the middle of this temple like building, surrounded by stones, or statues but I can’t make out what they are. They aren’t important anyways. The most important thing is that I’m on fire. On fire! But nothing else is on fire.”

Ariana paused to take a look at her therapist whom she had been seeing for a little over a year, Dr. Archibald. He was a bald, elderly, white man with this permanent smug look on his face. His gray mustache drooped over his small, pink lips, and he had sun damage spots all over his head. She couldn’t stand him but her sessions were court appointed since she was discharged from the military for excessive violence. He wasn’t the first therapist she had, but he had lasted longer than the others.

“What did it feel like?” Dr. Archibald asked.

Ariana rolled her eyes. Standard therapy question. She hated those.

“I felt powerful, which is weird and slightly uncomfortable. I’m on fire and I don’t feel like I’m burning. I feel like I’m alive.” Ariana paused, the hair on her arms raised in response to the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“Do I sound psychotic or what doc?” She asked, with a nervous chuckle.

“You don’t sound psychotic Ariana. I do want to touch on the fire though. Do you feel like this reoccurring dream is a part of the reason you chose to become a firefighter after your discharge from the military?”

She knew he already knew the answer to this question, and she also knew that he was bringing it up to challenge her, and trigger her. The last conversation they had about it, ended in her sobbing uncontrollably and telling him she would never be back to see him again. But of course that was all for naught, her therapy was, again, court appointed. “I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter doc, ever since I was a little girl. But you already know this, so why don’t we skip the fiddle faddle and you actually tell me what you want me to say.” Ariana relaxed deeper in to the uncomfortable Ikea sofa.

“I don’t want you to say anything you don’t think you need to say. You are here to find what triggers your anger. What causes you to react as explosively as you do? Why do you go head first in to “the fire” without a second thought for your own safety? These are the questions we are here to discover. You’ve been coming here for a year and every time we get back to this subject you shut down or redirect.”

Ariana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The birth mark above her spine started to tingle. Her palms started to burn, almost unbearably. This conversation was triggering her. She could feel the sweat dripping down her neck, and the perspiration on her forehead. I have to get out of here, she thought.

“Come back to me Ari. You can’t keep running away from what scares you. You have to face these points in your life that are triggering you. Causing you to be reactive.”

Ariana sighed deeply.“Look doc, I think our time is up. And I’m not running away, I can’t do this right now.” She grabbed her backpack and ran out of the door before he could protest.

Ariana wasn’t able to catch her breath until she reached the parking lot. She buckled over, and threw up behind a random black sedan. She pulled her insulated water bottle out of her backpack and finished off the still ice-cold water.

Ari knew something was happening to her, she didn’t know what. It had been happening since she was a teenager. The dreams about her being on fire, her birth mark tingling, and her palms feeling hot. Dr. Archibald was not going to be able to help her out. He’d probably diagnose her with some outlandish psychological disorder, and she’d end up on medication, or worse committed. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She needed to control whatever this was long enough to finish therapy. She also needed to figure out what “this” was.

After taking some time to catch her breath, Ariana gathered herself and walked to her car. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed a number.

The phone rang twice before a voice answered “I knew you’d be calling me. I have an opening tonight at 11pm. You know where to come.” The line went dead.

At 10:55pm Ariana pulled in front of a white house, with green shutters that appeared to be dark. She got out, closed the door, locked her car and walked up the driveway. Any sane person would be afraid to be out this late without the lights on. Ariana knew better though, and she knew this area too well to be afraid. She kept walking up the driveway and continued to the back of the house where a small guest house sat.

She followed a lit stone path until she reached the door of the guest house and knocked lightly.

“Come in Ari.” A West Indian accent called out.

Ariana opened the door to the pleasant smell of incense and candles. The room was dimly lit, but she didn’t need light to know that everything still looked the same.

“Don’t be shy now. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve been here but don’t act brand-new.”

She took a deep breath and closed the door.

Nana Abdulah had been her psychic reader since she was in college. Nana knew everything about her, even the parts she had yet to discover about herself. Ari didn’t know how she did it, but she knew Nana was a powerful force. This was the first time she’d seen her in 3 years. Now something inside was telling her, she should’ve stayed away.

“Hi Nana.” Ari sat down in the chair across from her long time friend and confidant. A round table between them.

“I knew you’d be back Ari. I told you, didn’t I?” Nana smiled a big, crooked, smile.

“Yes you did. And since you knew I’d be back then you know why I’m here.” Ariana thought it best to get down to business. Her anxiety was already through the roof. But she knew better, Nana was in control now.

“Don’t rush this child. You’re always in a rush. Time works differently here so relax.” Nana closed her eyes and began to shuffle her oracle cards.

Ari sighed deeply. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on her favorite parts about this familiar place. The book case in the far left corner filled with books about African Spirituality, the Orishas, and astrology. Ari always found something new to read each time she came. Nana would lend her a book, and she’d have to finish it before her next appointment. She always did.

Waiting for Nana to finish her ritual, she couldn’t help but think about the last time she was here. She had attacked her commanding officer, and was dishonorably discharged. Ari couldn’t understand why her life was falling apart. Why had she reacted so irrationally to someone she was supposed to respect? She lost everything. Or at least that’s what it felt like at the time. She was stripped of her title and military benefits. She’d never felt so low in her life. There was something about self reflection that Ari didn’t like, didn’t stop her from doing it though.

Nana was waiting for her when she showed up unannounced after her career ending outburst. Full of anger, shaking and crying as if she had lost someone. She felt like she did, like she lost herself. Nana held her until she calmed down and then sat her down at the Reading Table. The cards had already been placed.

“Tell me child. Are you here to stop running away from your destiny?” Nana’s voice snapped Ari out of her memory.

“I have to know what’s happening to me.”

“But are you ready?” Nana eyed her intently.

Ari thought before she answered. “I am ready.”

Nana began to hum as she placed the oracle cards down on the table.

“Ari, what I am going to tell you, you will not understand right away. But you must listen and take heed to my words.” She paused. Ari could feel her body heating up again. Nana was making her nervous. More nervous than usual and that was a cause for concern.

“Power is with in you, child. A power that has been growing inside of you since you came in to this world. I know you know what I mean. The dream you’ve been having since you were a teenager. The one where you’re on fire. That is more than a dream, that is a prophecy. You are to inhabit the power of the flame. You are the "I AM", you are the leader of the Fire Quadrant of the Star Seeds and you will lead them to awaken The Zodiac Queen.”

#zodiac #zodiacqueen #thezodiacqueen #chapterone #aries #blackwriter #blackwomen #fantasy #sciencefiction #novel #book #reading #writing #astrology #ascension

2 notes · View notes

eccentricpony · 5 years ago

Text

Hello dear! I kind of did a spin on this request, and the story starts around the time of their first meeting and shows the progression into a romantic relationship. Mildly inspired by Tenma’s home screen quote to practice a kissing scene.

I think it’s a good blend of angsty, spicy, funny, and fluffy, but you be the judge! I am quite fond of this piece, and I hope you are, too! <3

Bad First Impressions

Despite your best efforts to suppress it, a dramatic sigh rumbles past your lips. And to think that you had actually looked forward to working with Tenma Sumeragi. You had watched his performances in a few teen dramas and found his ability to be quite impressive, and he was highly lauded among other actors in your professional circle for being the consummate professional and perfectionist. More like pretentious and pompous.

“…and you there-“ the haughty redhead pointed towards a mousy looking boy sitting at a diner table on set.

“Uhh, B- Bill?” the mousy boy responded meekly.

“Yeah, sure – no one just stares at the person across from them without saying anything at all. It’s creepy and weird. That goes for you, too, guy with the glasses.” He moved an accusatory finger towards Bill’s dining companion. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of “peas and carrots”? I mean, this is amateur hour stuff that you don’t even need any skill to execute…”

“Can you just close your mouth and do some work, Sumeragi?”

You could hear a pin drop in the spacious sound studio. The cantankerous teen star whipped his head towards you with a pointed glare. You were an up-and-coming actress in the teen drama scene, and although you were a year older than he was, his acting resume was at least three times the length of yours. Sure, you were pretty, and you seemed passably talented, but you had a long way to go before you could even reach the echelon of his level of expertise. And you had the audacity to criticize his judgment??

“Excuse me?!” His eyes raked up and down your form, sizing you up in an attempt to appear intimidating. The manner in which you nonchalantly rested your hand upon your hip, head-cocked and eyes rolled; it was utterly disrespectful to him, a major authority in the industry, not to mention disrespectful to your fellow actors, to the very sacred space of-

“And to think that I had heard you were a competent leader…” you continued in a jaded tone. There was a visible flare in Tenma’s cheeks, the fury sizzling behind his eyes red hot.

To his credit, he certainly had a high level of talent, but that gave him no authority to degrade his teammates, whether they be fellow actors or the key grip. You weren’t normally this abrasive, but charming teen cutie Tenma was a self-important bully who was surrounded by “yes” men. This suave schoolboy star needed a wakeup call. The scandalized celebrity opened his mouth to commence a tirade when the director stepped in.

“Now, now, please folks. Let’s be civil…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he glanced between you both with a pleading look.

With a final sour stare in your direction, Tenma transformed back into TV’s favorite high school hottie with a heart of gold.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, and you also nodded in consent. Everyone placated Tenma, endured his toxic attitude because he brought them money. But one thing was for sure, you had no intention to relinquish control to tyrannical Tenma.

Japan’s Newest Sweetheart

Tenma rushed down the street, tipping the brim of his hat further down his forehead, his alarming speed drawing attention from passersby. But he couldn’t slow down now; it was only a matter of time before Igawa caught up to him and asked where he was going, and why he was going by himself, and what was he looking for after all, and a number of other questions whose answers he would very much prefer not to explain.

With the convenience store in sight, he quickened his pace until he reached the threshold, throwing open the door with a tenacity that startled the cashier. Returning upright from where he hunched over his newspaper, the shopkeep threw a cautious eye to the young man at the doorway, wearing a suspicious amount of accessories and panting like he was running from the law.

The ginger on a mission performed a quick visual sweep of the displays until he located the object he desired. Bounding forward, he approached the magazine rack and flipped open the arts & entertainment periodical to the index. …page 31…

Rifling through the flimsy pages of the gossip rag, he at last reached the article which he had sought. There looking up at him was a page-wide spread of you, armed with an impossibly charming smile and a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. The page opposite of your come-hither headshot bore the headline “Japan’s Newest Sweetheart.”

It was infuriating. You were a nobody – barely any experience at all, and certainly not in anything particularly noteworthy – yet you were the one pushed to the forefront of advertising. His eyes flicked back to your picture once, twice… I mean, it was a good photo.

Ignoring the manner in which his throat seized when met with your 2-dimensional gaze, he directed his attention to the article. His eyes tripped along the words, “captivating new series… “ “character growth and development…” – aha! He spotted his name among the text and focused on the containing paragraph.

“blah, blah… he’s a true veteran in the industry…” Tenma puffed up like a rooster at this remark. Damn right, I am. He continued to read your commentary, mouth silently forming the shape of the words, scouring each sentence for more well-deserved praise. You went on to describe the characters, their struggles and how the cast related to their roles… One line in particular raised his brow. Tenacious young man?? Young man, what? She’s like, one year older than I am! He rose his head, appalled that you would speak of him like a child. He turned back to the print, reviewing the sentence a second time. She’s not even a whole year older, we’re practically the same age. He bent his brow in concentration. He counted back from your birthday. Yeah, totally not even a year old. Tch. He chose to ignore the fact that he recalled your birthday so quickly and glowered down at you while you beamed right back up at him.

It was undeniable that he was pissed off due of all the attention you were receiving when he was the lead. Possibly because… well, maybe you did deserve it. He had come to respect your acting ability over the past few months, in particular your impressive ability to become truly immersed in a role.

But maybe also because…. well, you looked good in this spread. Like, really good. Your smile was intoxicating; why didn’t you smile at him like that? On second thought, maybe it was for the best that you hadn’t. His hardened exterior would likely dissolve, and he’d be a stuttering, fumbling mess. Scanning your features, he noticed that they airbrushed away a tiny birthmark on your face. Or maybe it was a freckle? And they did something to your eyebrows, they just looked off. Why would they even do that? They were perfectly fine eyebrows…

“Hey, buddy, are you going to buy that or not? This ain’t a library.”

Tenma’s head shot upright, dazed for a few moments before he comprehended the words spoken to him. His tense fists gripped the wrinkled magazine tightly, fragile pages strained and starting to tear. Loosening his hold, he spared a final glimpse at your face before neatly closing the pages and smoothing out the bent cover.

“Uhh, yeah. I am.”

Sliding his shades further up his nose with his pointer, he coolly ambled to the checkout area and lay the gentleman’s digest upon its surface. The material refused to remain flat after its recent abuse, leaving your shirt and neck visible beneath the dog-eared pages. The employee recognized the article right away.

“That new actress is really something, huh? They say she’s going to be the next big thing.”

Tenma scoffed but offered no discourse, handing over the required yen.

“Pretty cute, too,” the young worker added as he slipped the purchased item into a plastic bag.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tenma huffed heatedly, snatching the illustrated booklet containing your first big media premiere and returning to the sidewalk to await Igawa.

Salty to Sweet

“Don’t they teach you how to stay on task in Middle School? Or are you in High School? Your lack of common sense is misleading…”

“Funny,” Tenma retorted caustically, though more annoyed at himself than you. He had been finding it challenging to focus as of late since he bought that magazine and he kept screwing up on the same damn lines. His short fuse was growing ever shorter with every butchered word.

You could see that Tenma was downward spiraling; the spark he always carried behind those big, vibrant eyes was fading fast.

“Look, why don’t you try something else…” you started, preparing for opposition.

“What?” the taller boy began, with no small amount of skepticism. Ignoring his sour attitude, you stood opposite him and continued in a calm tone.

“Try talking to me about something you really like while staying in character.”

“Talk about something I like?” Tenma replied incredulously. “What am I, six?”

“Sometimes I wonder, with the way you hide your vegetables under your mashed potatoes during lunch, so no one notices you throwing them away.” You smirk knowingly, pleased with the look of surprise on your fellow actor’s face.

“You saw me do that?” Tenma stared at you with a look of both wonder and bewilderment. He was certain no one could see him do that, and you sat at another table entirely! How on earth could you have been paying close enough attention to him to spot that, unless…

“Everyone knows that,” you deflected quickly, the rosy tint on your cheeks belying your innocence in the matter. “So what are you going to talk about?” Your bitter scene partner rolled his eyes. As a veteran in the industry, he felt pretty foolish having you talk him through basic acting exercises. Yet…. There was no question that he was struggling with the script, and no better ideas came to mind. With a sigh of defeat, Tenma offered the one outlet that came to mind.

“Bonsai…” he mumbled in a barely audible tone.

“What was that?” you ask, leaning it. Your close proximity fuels a steadily growing warmth along the back of his neck. He takes a sudden step backward and repeats himself louder.

“Bonsai! Are you deaf?”

“Bonsai, huh?” You smile with amusement. “Well, that’s something you don’t read in all your magazine interviews.”

“Reading my interviews, are you?” he responds dryly, but his stomach does a flip. He thinks back on the magazine he has featuring you, kept privately stashed away in a box under his bed. The thought that maybe you had a magazine featuring him tucked away somewhere in your bedroom causes chills that ran down his broad arms and shoulders.

“Nevermind that,” you grumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “Well, bonsai it is, then. Whenever you’re ready.”

You spend the next few minutes listening to Tenma ramble on about bonsai pruning, the proper tools to use, and even the proper light, pH and moisture levels to ensure optimal bonsai health. Despite the fact that you now know more about bonsai trees than you would have ever cared to know, it seems that engaging, dynamic Tenma has returned. He comes to a full stop after finishing a discourse on bonsai diseases; his head now feeling clear, he’s convinced that he can recite his lines without hesitation.

“That was really good,” you commend him honestly, mirroring the pleased look on his face.

“Naturally,” he boasts in a cocky tone, feeling confident following his flawlessly delivered bonsai monologue. “It’s amazing how pleasant you can be when you’re not yelling at me,” he jibes, looking rather pleased with himself. You raise a brow at his renewed brashness, but you’ve always been quick on the trigger.

“It’s amazing how handsome you can be when you’re not scowling,” you reply with a smug expression, reveling in the crimson darkening his cheeks.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he mumbles with an air of mild embarrassment irritation, rubbing the back of his neck which is now damp with sweat.

“Who says I want to go anywhere with you?” you shoot back with a patronizing smirk before turning your attention back to the script. “SO, where were we?” you inquire loudly before he can get a word in edgewise. Thumbing through the marked-up pages, you see in your periphery that he is doing the same.

“Scenes 12 and 14 we did, 17 we did… no need to go over scene 28…”

“Why are we not practicing scene 28?” Tenma inquired in a cheeky tone. He knew exactly which scene 28 was: the kissing scene. You hadn’t gone over it yet, in read-throughs or on set. After you had just bested him in a mini battle of wits, this would be a great opportunity to even the playing field.

He had performed at least a dozen kiss scenes; it was old hat for him by now, and he knew for sure (not that he had googled your TV and film credits or anything) that you had never performed one. He was certain you’d flounder in search of a clever comeback, then, admitting defeat, blush profusely and outright refuse to do it.

“Fine, let’s do it.” You were no fool, and Tenma Sumeragi couldn’t bluff to save his life.

If Tenma wasn’t youthful and in great health, he might fear he were having a heart attack. Words seized up in his throat, and he could only manage a curt nod. He walked in a small circle, shaking his limbs as he often did while getting into character. He could do this, this was nothing. He had kissed, like, at least 12 girls before. 12! That was more girls than most men kissed in their entire lifetime! Wasn’t it? He couldn’t really think straight. With a long breath in, and out, he reformed his strategy.

He would perform a star-worthy kiss, absolutely knock-your-socks-off amazing, and then swagger out of the room while you were still swooning and dazed. His ego swelled a bit at the thought of leaving you desperate for another kiss, but his blood ran fast and furious at the thought of… well, actually having the kiss.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you started in the tone of your character’s persona, the sudden smoldering look in your eye plucking at his every last nerve.

“At lunch, in the hall… even waiting for the bus.” Slowly, you crossed the floor towards Tenma’s frozen form. “You’ve given me flirty smiles, you’ve given me teasing winks, but there’s one thing you have yet to give me...” His pulse pounded in his ears as you leaned in closer, far closer than you had ever been before. His eyes flicker anxiously to your mouth, his breath held tightly in his throat.

“A kiss” you purr, biting your lip with the thrill of anticipation. Your lip bite just about crushes any dignity that remains in Tenma; tracing the lines on your lips with a wanton stare, it takes him a few seconds of feeble gaping before he remembers he has a line.

“Come and get it,” he whimpered, his line in a tone more befitting the token band geek than a smooth high school hunk. And get it, you did.

His script is lost to the floor as you press your lips onto his, his body rendered both limp and tight all at once. He did not expect this kind of kiss from you. Or maybe it was because he was used to a stage kiss, with twenty people watching and instructions from several individuals on how to hold his mouth at just the right angle for the camera. This… this was a kiss kiss. Your soft mouth was moving fluidly against his with such hypnotic, sweet caresses that he was convinced that he had never truly kissed someone before now. It was humbling but delicious; he had no control, and he couldn’t care less.

He couldn’t contain the small whimper of disappointment you drew from his throat when at last you pulled away, slyly wiping your reddened lips with the back of your hand. Tenma watched you with a mixed look of shock and awe, as though you had just miraculously materialized from thin air. Practice was over.

“Don’t lose that script,” you called over your shoulder cheerfully as you exited the practice space. “I think you could use another review of that scene.”

The Premiere

The Interview

You: …and it’s been bittersweet, but we’re both ready to move onto new projects. Isn’t that right, Tenten?

Interviewer: Tenten? That’s adorable, is that your nickname for Tenma?

You: Yeah, I call him Tenten because to me, he’s a ten out of ten. [You place an overly-dramatic kiss on his cheek]

Tenma: [Feigns a gagging sound while seated beside you, but reciprocates the kiss] That is a heinous lie, by the way, on both counts. [Tenma’s ability to poke fun at himself is refreshing, his overall manner humble and gracious, demonstrating his tremendous growth from child star to the consummate professional actor.]

Tenma: Actually, one of my fellow trou- uh, one of my friends at the Mankai Company, Kazunari, gave me that nickname.

Interviewer: The Mankai Company, that’s right! You’re putting on a production soon, aren’t you?

Tenten: We are! I’d love to give you the details of our production if you could publish them alongside this article.

Interviewer: Absolutely. [Turning to you] And do you usually attend Tenma’s performances? I know both of your schedules are rather hectic these days, with all the job offers you’ve both received following the highly successful final season of your most recent television drama.

You: Yes, absolutely; I attend every one.

Tenma: In the front row, every performance. [He links his arm in yours, speaking with a tangible sense of pride]

Interviewer: I’ve noticed you have at least a half dozen bonsai trees in your apartment. Is that a mutual hobby?

You: Well, it’s our thing. I mean, it’s his thing really, but it’s kind of both our thing now. [You smile at Tenma with affection]

Interviewer: And, I’ve been meaning to ask - that framed script on the wall there, is that a keepsake? Or a valuable script from one of your favorite films perhaps? [The interviewer gestures to the worn script hanging above the mantle, protected and held in place by a thick pane of glass, bearing a large penned “SCENE 28”]

Tenma: Yeah, it has a… special meaning. [Your boyfriend contributes, glancing into your eyes with a knowing smile that only you two could understand]

#a3!#a3! actor training game #a3! imagines #a3! headcanons #a3 x reader #tenma x reader #a3 tenma #a3! tenma #a3! tenma sumeragi #tenma sumeragi #a3 imagines #a3 headcanons #a3 actor training game #a3 act addict actors

123 notes · View notes

jolinar · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Star Wars Fictober, Day 31!

Prompt number: #31 “I trust you”

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: reylo, blaster wound

Word Count: 1674

Summary: At the beginnings of a Stormtrooper Rebellion, the Force once again connects Rey and Kylo Ren. Rey asks a question, Kylo makes a choice.

Read it on Ao3:

Rey felt the blaster bolt make contact half a second before she felt the pain. It was just heat, at first. Heat and pressure. It soon resolved itself into pain and she cried out, dropping her weapon and clutching her side as her senses faded in and out. She heard people calling her name, felt herself being dragged away. Rose’s eyes swam in front of her vision and felt herself being propped up against a cold wall. There was another figure on her other side. Finn.

“The doors aren’t open, they were supposed to open!" Finn said to Rose in a frantic voice.

“I know, I know.”

“You need to make them open.” He gestured towards a computer terminal. Rose shook her head."

“I will, give me time. I’m not a slicer.”

“You can do it, Rose, I know it.”

“Okay, you hold the door. I’ll get into this computer system? Deal?”

Rey tried to will herself to stand. She had to help Finn. Had to protect Rose. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She thought she saw Finn take Rose’s hand and kiss it lightly. “Deal.” he said. Then Finn was gone. She heard the clatter of Rose’s fingers flying against keys.

“You’re hurt.”

The voice came, low and clear, cutting across the sound of Rose’s typing, cutting across all other sounds as the bond always did. Rey’s ragged breathing was still audible.

“Brilliant deduction, Supreme Leader," she said, wincing. "It looks like your lackeys have gotten to me after all. “

With a swish of his cape, he dropped to his knees beside her. “They aren’t supposed to hurt you,” a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I’ve ordered them not to hurt you.”

She pulled her arm away, so that he could see the cauterized mass of red flesh at her side. “You might want to talk to your troops, because not everyone got that message.”

He didn’t visibly react at first, didn’t make a sound beyond a slight intake of breath. But she thought she saw his lips draw back slightly, his eyes widen, as he looked at the wound. She could feel, through the Force, that his emotions were a whirlwind. She had been honing this particular ability, over the past months. Years and years alone had made it difficult, sometimes, for her to judge the nuance of expression and discern their meanings. But you couldn’t hide from the Force. And in that, she felt his willingness to help her. It was comforting, in some ways, to know that after everything, he cared. It filled her with a strange hope. And yet, she remembered when they had been face to face, and he’d tried to force her to give up everything she cared about.

“You know where I am,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“You know what I need.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence. He was fiddling with something outside of her view.

“Look, I’ll lay it out. If you can tell me how to get into the computer here and open the stormtrooper recruits’ doors, I’ll...I’ll…” she wanted to say I’ll give myself up, but couldn’t quite do it. She had nothing to offer but herself. “You want me to listen to you, to hear you out. Tell me how to get into this computer, and I’ll do it. I’ll hear your out.”

“That’s not how I want that.” He said, anger and frustration evident in his voice. He wanted her to give himself to him freely, as she had before. Coincidentally, that was the same thing she wanted of him. But neither of them seemed to be able to meet the other, this was their biggest hurdle. She sighed. “It’s all I’ve got, Ben.”

“That’s not my name.” He said it quietly.

“It is. It is your name. Ben Solo. You’re a good person, I know it, I can feel it, even if you can’t.” He drew back and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes at him and tried to pull herself up further. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the Galaxy, who is begging an injured nobody to talk him. How silly of me not use your full address, ahhh! --” she winced in pain and doubled over. It hurt so much. And even with Rose there, she felt so alone. She left like --

“It reminds you of when you were a child,” he said, and she realized with an internal shudder that she wasn't the only one who could read thoughts across the Force. “When you hurt yourself in that old star destroyer, beached on Jakku. You fell so far, it tore open your arm. There was no one to hear you, then. No one but --” he stopped, coming into the realization the same time she did.

"No one but you," she offered. Her breathing was labored, but her mind still worked. She felt relief, after all these years, to know.

"You thought it was your parents."

"I did," she admitted. "But it was you who heard me. I felt someone, telling me to hold on, to keep going. It was you. You kept me alive.”

He ducked his head, swallowed hard. The pain was getting to be too much and she fought against the loss of consciousness. She forced herself to continue: “I can’t believe that the man who helped me then would abandon me now. Will you?”

“You...trust me?”

"I’ve always trusted the person who helped me, all those years ago. I trust the man who killed Snoke for me, who fought side by side with me. If that’s who you are, then I trust you. Or are you Kylo Ren now?”

“If I tell you how to open the doors, they still might not fight for you.”

“They’ll fight for us.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because, no dictator, no invader, can keep a population imprisoned by force. It doesn’t matter how long it takes -- it could take a thousand years, but they will be free. People will be free. Nothing you say to me will change that.”

His fist clenched at his side, then loosened. He looked at her, his eyes softened and he looked lost.

“Rey, I need you to believe me. I never wanted to enslave anyone.”

“Bit late for that.”

“Haven’t you ever found yourself pulled along, until it was too late?”

She thought about it. Her life had certainly moved very quickly since joining the Resistance. But that was, again, his fault. He had pursued them, pursued her, across the galaxy.

"You know where I am, you know what I need," she repeated. "Will you give it to me?"

“You’re on Planterra, at the stromtrooper training facility. All of the stormtroopper recruits' rooms were sealed when the facility went into lockdown. You need the the control codes to open the rooms."

"Yes."

“I don’t know them.”

“Find them.”

She saw him look away, consulting a terminal. Only when he was focused on that did she allow herself to feel the pain of her wound. She choked back a cry of pain. She thought she saw his back stiffen in response...but no, she must have been imagining it.

The strange quiet that she and Kylo Ren inhabited pressed in on her. She could see where he stood at his console, but she could also see where Finn and Poe were, firing off shots as they held the line. For her part, Rose was still typing diligently at her console, chewing her lip, and focused wholly on the screen in front of her. The sound of blaster fire and shouting grew nearer,

“Ben…” Rey said, surprised with how calm her sounded. “Either you help us now, or we’re dead. I’m dead.”

"Rey." He looked up at her and there was that same light, same decisiveness in his eyes she’d seen when he’d called his saber to her in Snoke's throne room. “Serial number XO7Y39-Alpha. Security code: obsidian.”

Had she been stronger, Rey could have kissed him in that moment, but instead, she willed her head to turn towards Rose.

“Rose,” she croaked out. Her voice was somehow fainter, in the real world, than it was in the world she shared with Ben. “Rose. I know the code.”

“What?” Rose asked, "Oh, Rey, you look awful, hold on, I'll --"

With an effort, Rey shook her head. “Serial number X07Y39-Alpha. Security code obsidian.”

“You’re sure?”

Rey looked over at Ben. He was following Rey’s gaze, staring in the space where Rose stood, as though trying to see her. She felt, with a shudder, as though he could.

“I’m sure.”

"Just a minute...” Rose input the codes and clicked the send. There was a tense moment, then they heard the doors flash open as every stormtrooper cadet’s cell opened up. There was a loud cry as these new combatants joined the fray.

“That worked, Rey!!” Rose looked at her, renewed hope in her eyes. “Let me tell Finn -- Finn!!” she darted back out of the room. Rey closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” Rey said to him, Ben, Kylo, whatever he called himself.

“You’ll get yourself to a healer.” He was doing something now, at her side, she could feel the wounded area go numb as something cold and gelatinous touched her fevered skin. “You’ll take care of yourself.” It was not a question. Rey nodded. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Rose was back at her side.

“They’re joining us, all of them are joining us, we’re going to get out of here...oh, good, you've already started putting bacta patches on,“ Rose said, reaching into her belt and pulling out a medicinal patch. Rey knew she had done no such thing. She looked around and found Ben, fading out of her vision, but still there, the wrapper from a large bacta patch in his hand. He was looking at her intently. Completely unaware of his presence, Rose continued her ministrations. “We’re going to be okay, you just stay with me, Rey, okay?”

Rey nodded, eyes still locked with Ben’s. "I'll stay with you."

#fictober20 #a very star wars fictober #mae writes #reylo #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #rose tico #technically still not done with fictober #I am skipping around on prompts now #but still having fun!#star wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #reylo fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

shark-myths · 4 years ago

Text

@alienfuckeronmain tagged me to deep-search my soul with these questions, and it is the exact distraction I was looking for! no pressure to do this one, pals, but i tag @carbonbased000 @leyley09 @shoeboxofphotographs12 @glitterandrocketfuel @allkindsofplatinumandpercocet @setting-in-a-honeymoon @toorational and anyone i’ve forgotten!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? does anyone like blue pens? who is this product made for

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? the city, cuz i spent 7 consecutive years very broke in rural areas with homophobia neighbors and having things to do is so thrilling. but i imagine one day retreating into the desert and living far from my nearest neighbors

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? I have learned all the skills I am interested in right now, because learning new things is an a+ quarantine activity. maybe the ability to do physics? i would like to be proficient in physics and i am deeply not

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Never

5. What was your favourite book as a child? all of them! I have always read like i’m running out of time and often get stressed when i think about how few books i will be able to read in my lifetime. as a child I reread Lord of the Rings and Robin McKinley and the Holly Black Tithe series the most, and i was OBSESSED with those gold-paged books with ribbon bookmarks that were diaries of girls from different historical periods, and i have never been able to read historical fiction since.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? I hated baths passionately until my chronic pain reached a tipping point, and since then i have learned to really enjoy the long hot soak with a drink and a book. (i didn’t like showers either until very recently. life support tasks felt like a huge waste of time until i got a partner who helped me figure out how to enjoy them)

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? i have always wanted to be one of tolkien’s elves! I want a long life filled with learning languages and reading books and existing in green peaceful spaces, and then i want to be able to die when i am done.

8. Paper or electronic books? I like paper better--I’ve been building a library slowly my whole life--but my kindle has been life-saving during the pandemic when i couldn’t go to the library.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? right now i’m doing all my work remotely and clothes feel meaningless, but i have a plain black tank top that i feel really comfortable in

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I don’t like my name at all--it’s Kaylie--because it is so aggressively peppy and feminine. it doesn’t sounds like an adult’s name; it evokes exclamation points and pigtails. i have always wished for a severe, no-nonsense name like joan, or a pretty but to-the-point name like eva.

11. Who is a mentor to you? Leslie Knope

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? I used to fantasize about being a famous writer, and now in my field i do wish i had a name that mattered or was considered esteemed or expert in something in some way. I would love to have a research job where i had paid time to publish! but i don’t want it enough to work on it outside of my capitalist mandatory labor hours, because i don’t have enough time for my loved ones as it is

13. Are you a restless sleeper? lately yes, since my cat died in january i have slept like absolute hell

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? not really, but i am a thoughtful one

15. Which element best represents you? earth

16. Who do you want to be closer to? physically i want to be closer to my long-distance pals like @alienfuckeronmain @newleafover @time-less @immoral-crow @leyley09 (leyna let’s have a movie night when i’m done moving???)

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? pretty much all my friends i used to regularly hang out with, sam who moved to seattle, sam who lives in madison, all the people i listed above

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. I used to play going to work. i’d pack up a backgammon case as a briefcase, grab my stuffed gorilla, and go write in notebooks and move pieces of paper around

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? I am an extremely boring person and all I eat is popcorn and bread

20. What are you most thankful for? having an able body that works to support me and keep me whole, having a partner who makes me feel truly cared for

21. Do you like spicy food? yep!

22. Have you ever met someone famous? once at c2e2 i met george r.r. martin and no one else cared he existed because got wasn’t a show yet, so i awkwardly went up to him and proclaimed my love for his work, and then he trapped me in a long conversation about vampires

23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? a journal! i have since i was pretty small, they take up a full shelf of a bookcase

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? pen, and i have lots of Special Pens that i only use for a particular purpose or project, because i am a huge raging...

25. What is your star sign? virgo

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? crunchy and without milk

27. What would you want your legacy to be? personally, that I wrote things that meant something to the people who read them; professionally, that i removed barriers to accessing healthcare for trans and gender expansive people

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? see above--I completely adore reading. last book was Sisters of the Vast Black and currently i’m reading The House in the Cerulean Sea and it’s totally charming. I’ve been reading really quality science and nonfiction writing too, please send me your recommendations

29. How do you show someone you love them? I make them breakfast, I tell them so constantly, I send them things in the mail, I bring them small interesting gifts, and I say every nice thought I have about them out loud

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? not especially, but it’s fun to chew on

31. What are you afraid of? surgery

32. What is your favourite scent? smoke from blown-out candles, lavender, laundry detergent my loved ones use

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? whatever they’ve told me to call them? this seems like common courtesy

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? I do so much less clinical work and work fewer hours in general, I would run for office so I could influence policy and stop wasting my fucking time on the ground level, I would spend more time writing, I would spend so much more time with my family, I would devote the time to running longer distances again in a way that doesn’t aggravate my busted knee

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? the ocean!

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? oh i would definitely spend that on something stupid and self-indulgent i wanted, like a pete wentz hoodie

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? YES! when i was kid every summer i’d be sent to jesus camp, which thank god because that’s what got me into fanfiction, and it was in the middle of nowhere, wisconsin, and you could see the entire milky way and shooting stars blaze across that thing ALL THE TIME, and it shook me to my foundation every summer and for a time i mistook that feeling for faith in god instead of wonder at the infinite being and possibility that is our generous universe

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? i have none of my own but my partner has a 5 year old, so quite against my intention i have become a parent-adjacent person. i try to teach him about emotional accountability for the effect of his actions on others

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? the next tattoo i want is a big snake crawling up my mostly bare left arm

40. What can you hear now? my laptop fan

41. Where do you feel the safest? when i’m protecting someone else

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? my relationship with my body

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? i’d really like to be a gentleman of leisure in a jane austen novel

44. What is your most used emoji? the purple heart

45. Describe yourself using one word. earnest

46. What do you regret the most? not going to a 4-year university and having a #college experience. it’s one of my most stinging regrets because it was not a decision i got to make for myself

47. Last movie you saw? what is a movie theater? what does it feel like to be in one? the last movie i watched is charlie’s angels from the early 2000s because that was an unexamined sexual awakening for me--lucy liu being efficient in leather has never left me, efficiency is the single trait i most attracted to--and i wanted my boyfriend to see how bad it is

48. Last tv show you watched? either Kipo and the age of the wonderbeasts or star trek tng!

49. Invent a word and its meaning. instead i will say that i think the most beautiful english word is ache. my favorite way of creating things is transforming and remixing what already exists, which makes writing with words someone else invented the ideal challenge and pastime

(i really loved doing this! it was nice to talk about myself at the end of a workweek. thank you @alienfuckeronmain !)

#tags #about me #a humble shark

15 notes · View notes

fandomfanfics12 · 5 years ago

Text

We Are A Family-Part 32

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 32/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn’t help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell? A/N: sorry for the angst lol

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31

Tony went to therapy and most days had to drag Steve to come with him. They were both struggling with coming to terms with the loss of their son. They were both struggling for different reasons. Tony because his son had died in his arms, Steve because he thought he should have been able to do something to prevent this.

“but how is the relationship between the two of you?” the therapist asked and Tony glanced over to Steve.

“It’s been good, but hard.” Steve said and Tony nodded.

“Why hard?” Steve glanced to Tony who gave Steve a gentle smile.

“Well, before Peter,” Steve swallowed and Tony took Steve’s hand. “We hated each other, and then we adopted him and uh, fell in love.” Tony nodded along, the therapist took note of something on her stupid clipboard. A part of Tony hated therapy, but he knew the benefit of going was worth sitting through these sessions. Even on the days where he felt like no progress had been made, like they weren’t getting anywhere. But the nightmares were becoming less frequent and his panic attacks weren’t lasting as long, so maybe things were improving.

“so without Peter…” she trailed off and Tony glanced out the window, wishing for this session to be over. at first all they talked about with their therapist was Peter, mourning and grieving, and they still were. But Tony hated talking about Pete, it was too painful on days like today.

“There’s no routine for us to fall back into, our old routine involved our son and now we don’t-“ Steve cut himself off and took a deep and calming breath and Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. A lump formed in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak without crying.

“have you considered adopting another child? There were plenty of children who lost their parents in the snap as it’s called.” Tony’s head snapped towards her, she smiled sympathetically and this time it was Steve’s turn to squeeze Tony’s hand.

“I’m not sure that we’re in the right place to take on a child.” Steve said and Tony nodded in agreement. He wouldn’t replace Peter, no fucking way.

“well I think it would be worth consideration.” Tony nodded politely, but had no intention with following through with it.

Steve was worried about Tony who was looking at the therapist like she’d grown a three extra heads.

“Thank you, we’ll think about it. another thing is, I don’t know what to call Tony.” Steve admitted and now Tony looked at Steve like he’d grown three extra heads.

“Huh?” Tony asked and Steve took a deep breath, he did that a lot nowadays. Took deep breaths to calm himself down so he didn’t say or do anything stupid or rash. Every day he and Natasha worked on their plan, determined to bring everyone back. Nat had employed several people to help, people who could look over the universe and throughout space for another solution, but they hadn’t found anything. And with each therapy session, Steve grew more frustrated.

“Well, when we meet new people…” Steve trailed off and Tony’s brows furrowed. He was so adorable when he looked like that. With wide eyes and brows drawn together that formed a little crease in his forehead. Not to mention the little pout he made.

“I still don’t get it Steve.” Tony said and Steve bit his lip, carefully choosing his next words.

“Well what are we doing exactly? We got divorced and-“

“You were brainwashed Steve.”

“But we still signed a legal document. So do I call you my boyfriend, ex-husband, husband, fiancé?” Tony leaned back into the seat and his face rearranged to his deep thinking face. The therapist took notes.

“So you want a label Steve?” The therapist asked and Steve shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess so. I just want to know where we stand and what this is exactly.” Tony bit his lip and Steve’s stomach flipped. If he could, he’d go back to being Tony’s husband in a heartbeat. But that may not be an option anymore, Tony might not be ready to make that commitment again. Yes they had said they were sorry and all was supposedly forgiven and understood and they both had said I love you, but that didn’t necessarily mean Tony wanted to get married again.

“Tones?” Steve asked after a long silence had filled the room. Tony’s eyes met Steve’s and his face softened, Steve wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. God, how was it after everything they’d been through-how could Tony still make Steve so nervous?

“I just wasn’t expecting that, I don’t know.” Steve nodded, unsure what that meant exactly.

“Would you like to get married again?” the therapist asked and Steve looked down at their hands. He wished he’d brought this up in private rather than in therapy.

Tony felt like he was a deer caught in headlights. What did he say? He didn’t know what was the right response here. Steve was looking at their hands and his breaths were deep and even. But Tony could practically feel the anxiety rolling off of him. If he took too long to answer, it would look like a no. but Tony didn’t want to say no, but he didn’t want to say yes either.

“Umm…” he trailed off as he searched for the words to explain himself.

“You know what, we don’t have to do this now, I have to meet Nat.” Steve pulled his hand free and practically ran from the room, Tony’s mouth fell open. Seriously? Did he really think that Tony was about to reject him?

“Tony?” the therapist asked and Tony turned back to her.

“I want to do it, I just always pictured Peter there if we did get married again. I guess it’s just another adjustment I need to make. It’s fine, I’ll talk to him.” Then Tony stood up and also left, they only had five minutes left of their appointment anyway. But by the time Tony got outside, Steve was long gone.

“Dammit Steven.” Tony grumbled but there was no one other than the secretary in the hallway to hear him.

The meeting with Natasha was as unsuccessful as all the other meetings had been. Steve walked around New York for an extra two hours before his feet carried him back home. He was nervous, and knew he’d upset Tony. He shouldn’t have walked out like that. But god, he was making a fool of himself. He was expecting too much, asking too much and he hadn’t been able to handle Tony’s rejection. But then again, Tony hadn’t said no. he hadn’t said anything really, just umm. Steve hadn’t given him the opportunity to say anything else. He hadn’t wanted to be rejected, but he had caught Tony off guard. When he let himself into the avengers compound it was quiet, empty. The lights were all off.

“Hello?” he called out just on the off chance that someone was hiding out in their room. But no one answered. He made his way to the kitchen and found a note waiting for him. It was Tony’s handwriting, and there was just an address. But Steve recognised it instantly, their old apartment. He pulled out his phone and called Tony.

“Steven.” Tony said and Steve’s stomach dropped.

“I know I shouldn’t have bailed, I’m sorry, but why do you want me to go to the apartment?” Steve asked and grabbed his keys.

“just get your ass over there, alright?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“ill see you soon.” And then Tony hung up. Dammit. Steve moved to the garage, each step he took made his stomach twist and churn in a new and different way. Tony was going to kill him. God, he was an idiot, he’d gotten a second chance and he’d ruined it. there was nothing else he could do now, he’d lost Tony.

Tony was nervous as he stood in the candlelit room. He anxiously waited for Steve to show up and his heart pounded in his chest, what if Steve didn’t come? What if Steve rejected him? How was he still so uncertain about their relationship, even after all these years?

“Tony?” he heard after a knock at the door. Tony took a deep and steadying breath and then Steve opened the door.

“Hey Stevie.” Tony said as Steve took in the scene before him; the empty apartment filled with lit candles, Tony in a suit in the middle of it all, on one knee and heart in his throat.

“Tones?” he asked and Tony smiled gently as Steve shut the door behind him.

“When someone asks you who I am, I don’t want their to be any uncertainty. I want you to be able to say I’m your husband, I want you to look at me and know that we are married, I don’t want their to be any confusion here. I don’t want it to be easy for one of us to ever walk away. I want us to be married again.” There it was, Tony’s heart out on the line. Yet again, and Steve could break it once again if he wanted. But Steve’s face just softened and he dropped to his knees, pulling Tony into a tight hug.

“I love you.” Steve whispered and Tony relaxed in Steve’s arms.

“Thank god.” He mumbled against Steve’s chest.

“I thought you were calling me over to dump me.” Steve admitted and Tony laughed.

“As if I could dump you.”

“After everything I’ve done?”

“We’ve been over that Steve, it wasn’t your fault.”

“it was still me, even if it was him, it was still me.”

“Do you understand how stupid you sound when you say that?” Tony asked and Steve snorted. But even though they’d agreed to get remarried, there was a heaviness in Steve’s chest.

“I have to tell you something.” Steve admitted and Tony quirked a brow.

“What?” but Steve couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. He’d be angry, for Steve lying. For keeping a secret so huge. But Steve didn’t want to lie to Tony if they were getting remarried, he couldn’t keep this a secret.

“Nat and I, we’ve been working on bringing everyone back.” At that, Tony pulled out of Steve’s arms.

“What?”

“just because thanos destroyed the stones doesn’t mean they’re gone. their energy still exists, we just have to find it and learn how to harness it.”

“And then what?” Tony snapped and Steve suddenly felt defensive. He hadn’t expected Tony to be happy, but he also hadn’t expected so much anger.

“And then we’d bring everyone back. We’d bring Peter back.” Steve just wanted Tony to understand, wanted Tony to stop looking at him with so much anger.

“And what if it doesn’t work? What if it’s just one wild goose chase huh?” Tony asked and Steve shook his head.

“it’s not.”

“then what leads do you have. What proof?” tony was near hysterical and Steve winced, this had been a mistake but there was no going back now.

“none so far, but we’re working on it.”

“No, you’re not.” Tony shook his head and Steve frowned.

“what?”

“I can’t let you spend the rest of your life searching for him. You can’t chase a ghost for the rest of your life.”

“Don’t you want Peter back?”

“Of course I do! There’s nothing more that I could ever possibly want other than for Peter to be alive. But just because I want it doesn’t mean it’s something I can have. And I can’t let you chase this for the rest of your life. I won’t watch you lose yourself in this.” Steve was taken aback by that. Tony was furious but Steve couldn’t back down. He couldn’t let this go.

“I can’t just go on knowing that I should have been there.”

“is that what this is about?” Tony asked and Steve looked away, clenched his jaw.

“I should have been there.”

“But you weren’t. we lost and a lot of people died, including our son. But you can’t just bring him back, that option died when Thanos destroyed the stones.” Steve shook his head.

“That might be something you’re willing to accept, but not me. I have to keep fighting for our son.” Steve’s eyes met Tony’s and the scene that had originally seemed romantic now seemed like a nightmare.

“Steve we have to learn to let him go, we can’t just pretend like he’s going to walk through the door and come home from school at any moment. He’s gone and I miss him every fucking day, but I can’t let you do this.”

“You can’t stop me from doing this.” Steve said and the room fell silent. Steve hated this but he knew where this argument was going. He’d have to choose between saving Peter and losing Tony. How the hell was he supposed to choose between the two people that he loved the most in this world? Between his husband and his son?

“So that’s it then?” Tony asked, not voicing the ultimatum that he was giving Steve.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Steve whispered and Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

“Then give this up, let it go and we can learn to move on.” Tony pleaded but Steve shook his head.

“I can’t do that.” And so they stood there, taking one another in, like it was the last time they ever would.

33 notes · View notes

hymnstoalienstars · 4 years ago

Text

HP&WCh: “Maybe it’s Harry who calls Tom Peter Pan”

So I was looking what to work on and the first on the list is HP&WCh tomarry thing and I thought I need to figure out some details.

I don’t live in UK, hence googling.

Full-time education is compulsory for all children aged 5 to 18, either at school or otherwise, with a child beginning primary education during the school year they turn 5. Children between the ages of 3 and 5 are entitled to 600 hours per year of optional, state-funded, pre-school education.

I know I said Harry was seven but maybe not, I was basing it on my country’s ed system which starts at 7.

Petunia wouldn’t want neighbours to think smth improper, so she would probably want to dump Harry to primary at five. And tell them all how difficult a child he is.

And I’m thinking he “runs away” - disappears into his Neverland - before starting school, so it would be used by Dursleys later as an example of difficult behavior.

Maybe use a fanon bit of Harry being used to be called “Freak” and not knowing his name at the age of five.

And now that I said Neverland... I want to make Tom Riddle a sort of Peter Pan?

To be honest, his ability to fly, “angelic” looks. He could play Peter Pan. For Harry.

In Peter and Wendy, it is explained that Peter must forget his own adventures and what he learns about the world in order to stay childlike.

Maybe it’s Harry who calls Tom Peter Pan. Because Tom can fly. Because Tom forgets forgets forgets so hard he is from an orphanage in the world without magic, where it’s all grey and dusty and cold, and food doesn’t grow on rainbows, and you don’t wake up to a world-saving missions.

Barrie states that although Neverland appears different to every child, the island "wakes up" when Peter returns from his trip to London.

It could be that The World called Tom to itself because he had magic. That the world needed magic to be healthy if the word can even be applied to such an entity.

In the chapter "The Mermaids' Lagoon" in the book Peter and Wendy, Barrie writes that there is almost nothing that Peter cannot do. He is a skilled swordsman, rivalling even Captain Hook, whose hand he cut off in a duel. He has remarkably keen vision and hearing. He is skilled in mimicry, copying the voice of Hook and the ticking of the clock in the crocodile.

Peter has the ability to imagine things into existence and he is able to feel danger when it is near.

Do I need to reread the books about Peter Pan?..

I just love the concept of PeterPan!Tom. (Not literally, but parallels and details, in childhood, the concept that he could be. Could pretend. Could play.)

Of Tom being able to fly thinking happy thoughts: "lovely wonderful thoughts". Of Tom reading Peter Pan and being sure he could do it. Without fairy dust, or maybe he even tried to find some?

Four years old, he tried and felt he levitated an inch from the ground. Tom needed to be higher, just raising into the air was too hard, he didn’t have enough happy thoughts - no wonder, he was left in this place since his mother died, other children avoided him, he rarely got new books to read. He climbed onto the roof of an orphanage and jumped. And can you imagine what he felt that day when he was able to fly?

Speaking of the abilities in the previous quote, I think Tom would have been able to do some of it. And his magic would flourish in the environment he could wield it in without constraints. Tom would use his magic every day just to survive, to fight for his world - and win.

Peter Pan was like a Young Demigod of the island, as far as I remember. If Tom get to feel that, no wonder he would get addicted to that level of power, felt he deserved it. It’s rather fitting, in a dark sad way, that he became a Dark Lord, with intentions of being as close to a god as he could get.

In the original play, Peter states that no one must ever touch him (though he does not know why).

could use it? at some point?

Pan, a minor deity of Greek mythology who plays pipes to nymphs and is part human and part goat

It is hinted that Wendy may have romantic feelings for Peter, but unrequited because of his inability to love.

👀 are you seeing what i am seeing?

In Barrie's novel Peter and Wendy (but not the original play Peter Pan), it is stated that Peter "thins them out" when they start to grow up. This is never fully explained, but it is implied that he either kills them or banishes them.

Oh my fucking god.

And now I need to google the dates for films. And books.

Peter Darling by Austin Chant (2017), a romance between an adult Peter Pan (who is a transgender man born as "Wendy") and Captain Hook.[31] Winner of the 2017 Rainbow Award for best cover and best transgender science fiction/fantasy.[32] (c) Wiki, List of works based on Peter Pan

HOLY SHIT

Okay, back to the list. (copied from W)

1904 – Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up (play): Peter brings Wendy and her brothers to Neverland, where he has a showdown with his nemesis, Captain Hook. After the play was first staged in 1904, Barrie continued to make changes until the script was published officially in 1928.[1] This play was later adapted as a novel by Barrie.

1906 – Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens: an origin story where the infant Peter flies away from his home, takes up residence in Kensington Gardens and makes friends with the fairies. The story first appeared as a chapter in Barrie's The Little White Bird published in 1902.

1908 – When Wendy Grew Up – An Afterthought, a short sequel play first staged in 1908, but only published in book form in 1957.

1911 – Peter and Wendy (novel), later published as Peter Pan and Wendy, adapted as a novel from the play, it also incorporates events from When Wendy Grew Up – An Afterthought.

1928 - Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up, the first publication of the script of the play.

Walt Disney's Peter Pan (released on 5 February 1953), an authorised animated adaptation. Disney licensed the film rights to the story in 1939 from Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children. It featured music by Sammy Cahn, Frank Churchill, Sammy Fain, and Ted Sears. 15-year-old film actor Bobby Driscoll supplied the voice of Peter. This version contained little of the original dialogue from the play or its novelisation.

In the early 1930s, Edward Mason Eggleston painted a series of images for calendars that included Peter Pan, Indian princesses and pirates.

To the question of how Harry would know about Peter Pan, I think that The Very Proper daughter of the nearby family was obsessed with Peter Pan and jumped at the thought of introducing a new person to the book and film and everything. Someone she haven’t infodumped yet to!

Then, of course, she was forbidden to talk to him by her parents because of the things Dursleys told them.

#tomarry take on wayward children #w ch #harry potter ff #fanfiction #tomarry #wayward children #i'll copy peter pan things into a different post #outloud worldbuilding

7 notes · View notes

ruby-dear · 4 years ago

Note

all of them except 77, 78, 81, 92 and 96

Ember, I know this was you. I’m doing it, but that’s 93 questions you’re asking for so they’re going under a cut.

1. Talk about your first love. There have been a lot of those, so let me talk about the first one I really remember. I was in eighth grade, at the time, and she wasn’t exactly a great person looking back but she was cool and confident and she liked me, and she called me her best friend, and probably the best school-related memory I’ve ever had was her tackle-hugging me from across a classroom. I didn’t even realize I liked girls until she’d pretty much left my life completely. Maybe I’m looking at it through rose-tinted glasses now, but I think that’s okay, sometimes. 2. What’s the most beautiful songs you’ve ever heard in your opinion? Most of my favorite songs are Owl City, especially the older stuff. It has a soft, dreamlike vibe to it that I find really pretty even when it’s depressing. 3. How’s your heart feeling right now? Pretty good, I think? 4. What kind of self care is your favorite to do? The fun stuff. Bath bombs, makeup, fancy shampoo. Retail therapy actually works pretty well for me, even if a lot of the time I don’t even buy anything. 5. What’s your skincare routine? Um... Shower? 6. How did you get to be so beautiful? Natural talent and carefully learned confidence. 7. Do you have any stuffed animals? Oh, do I. I have like, seventy Webkinz, and that’s without getting into anything else. You could say I collect plushes, even if I don’t do it as actively now. I have a couple of Eevee plushes, too - I’d say I want to own all of them one day, but I’m like, 95% sure that’s not possible. 8. Best trip you’ve ever been on? Once, we went to Prince Edward Island for a week, and my mom surprised me by meeting up with my best friend’s family, who happened to have gotten a room at our hotel for one night. I think that probably wins. 9. Favorite thing about your room? That it’s starting to look like it belongs to me, even if I want to move somewhere else. 10. Opinion on love? It takes work, but it’s worth it.

11. Are you affectionate? Around people I’m comfortable with, definitely. 12. Who do you look up to? The people who have enough confidence to be unapologetically be themselves.

13. Favorite poet? Robert Frost. When I was eleven, I found a book of his poems, and I loved that book so much I didn’t pay any attention in English class at all.

14. Song that makes you happy? How about one that calms you down when you’re in a bad place? There’s a lot of songs that make me happy. Hard to go wrong with the Pokemon theme, though. As for things that calm me down... It’s Alright by Mother Mother and Misguided Ghosts by Paramore have both got me through a lot.

15. Do you play an instrument? No. I was supposed to learn piano in seventh grade, but I couldn’t read the sheet music so they never let me play, and I tried to learn guitar multiple times but it never stuck for the same reason.

16. Do you do art? Using what (pencil, watercolor, etc)? I paint, though not as often as I’d like to! Using acrylics, usually, but watercolors sometimes.

17. Do you dance? What style of dance? I took ballet as a child, til they kicked me out of class, and I still enjoy dancing but I don’t remember any of what I learned.

18. What’s your zodiac sign? Do you believe in astrology? Gemini. I think it might have some kind of truth behind it, but I’m not really one of those all-or-nothing people. It’s just for fun, you know?

19. Favorite old film? I don’t watch a lot of them. Does The Aristocats count?

20. What’s your hairstyle? It’s long and wavy. I’m getting blue highlights soon.

21. What weather is the most beautiful, in your opinion? Light rain. The kind that dries off before you get inside, when the sky is perfectly clear, but it starts falling anyway and it stops just as quickly.

22. What upsets you most about the world? That however hard we try to fix it, we’re unlikely to get very far.

23. Are you in love right now? Yes. At least, I think so.

24. Do you have a crush? If so, talk about them! I have a girlfriend. Is that the same thing? She’s cute and funny and she thinks the same things about me for some reason, and she knows exactly how much of a disaster I can be and hasn’t run away yet.

25. Do you have pets? Talk about something sweet about them! I have a cat, Little Prince. His sister died about a month ago, and she was the one who usually kept me company (total lap-cat), but ever since he’s usually either close to where I am or comes when I call him over.

26. Do you have a lucky number? Any multiple of seven, but especially fourteen. They’re my favorite numbers for the same reason.

27. Have you ever wished on a star? What about on a fallen eyelash? I try to wish on stars, when I see them. Eyelashes I’m usually more annoyed about than anything.

28. Do you believe emoji spells to work? I think anything has the potential to work, given the right amount of effort and intent. That said, I don’t think you’re going to accomplish anything drastic.

29. Do you believe in magic in general? Oh, definitely. Just look at the world we live in. How can you not believe in magic when it’s all around you? The night sky without air pollution, the sunlight dancing on the water, candy cane white hot chocolate - it’s everywhere, in everything.

30. What’s the most beautiful thing in life, In your opinion? Everything. There’s something beautiful in everything, if you look for it. Today, let’s say the feeling of sliding around on a hardwood floor in fluffy socks, dancing along to one of your favorite songs.

31. Opinion on the color pink? What about baby blue? As a kid, I hated pink. I like it now, though. Blue is my color, light blue especially (particularly with star patterns), so I’ve always liked it.

32. What instrumental sound is your favorite? Am I alloawed to say wind chimes? I’ve always thought they sounded super pretty.

33. Do you like the sound of wind? What about the sound of rain? I love them both.

34.Who makes you happy? My friends. All of them, in different ways, the people who are still in my life for various reasons. I love them.

35. What makes you happy? Light rain, strong wind, good music. My cat’s soft meow when I wake him up by accident. White peppermint hot chocolate. Fall colors, string lights, Halloween and winter holidays. Ice and snow and skating, dressing up for no apparent reason. The trick to it all is finding new things every day.

36. Imagine your ideal life, the life you wish to make, what will that look like? A house big enough for a family. A degree of some kind hanging on the wall. A life where I’m making things because that’s what I love, and I can try new things just for fun, where I don’t have to worry about money so much. The chance to get married someday, maybe.

37. Do you wear makeup? If so what’s your favorite type of makeup or specific makeup product? Favorite store to buy makeup? I do! Unless someone else is doing it for me, I generally keep to lipstick and eyeshadow. I’ve never been especially picky about what brands I use, but I usually go to Nyx because it’s on my usual route when I go on shopping trips, and I’m kind of attached now. Plus, nowhere else I’ve been in person has as many bold colours.

38. Do you wear dresses? If so what’s your favorite dress you own? I like wearing dresses. My favorite that I still have is a longer black dress, and it’s in serious need of either repair of retirement, but I got it for $20 as a cosplay outfit last year and it served its purpose. I wear it around still, sometimes, because it’s generally an easy fix.

39. Ever been heartbroken? How do you deal with it? Yeah, a few times. I vent to my friends, usually, and then I eat ice cream and listen to gnash for a while and eventually I start to feel better.

40. Who’s your closest friend? What do you love about them?

41. Introvert or extrovert? Kinda both? It’s complicated.

42. Do you like MBTI? What’s your MBTI? Is that... Fuck, is that the one with the letters? I think I got ENFP last time, and when I was younger it was INFP.

43. Would you be a fairy, a mermaid, a vampire, a siren, a or an angel? I’ve had people tell me I have ‘fae vibes’ before, so let’s go with that and hope it’s not offensive.

44. What’s the best song a friend has ever introduced to you? I don’t remember enough of them to feel good about picking one. I basically only listen to music I’m recommended now.

45. Parlez-vous français? A little, by virtue of being Canadian and having driven through Quebec. Not enough to carry on a conversation.

46. Most beautiful place you’ve been to? Prince Edward Island, hands down. It’s gorgeous.

47. Where/when do you truly feel at home? When there’s a light breeze, and the perfect song is playing, and the people I love are there. When we’re laughing with each other.

48. Does smiling put you in a better mood? Try it right now, you’re smile is gorgeous! I don’t think it does, honestly? But it does tend to happen when I’m happy.

49. Favorite shoe you own? These ankle boots I got secondhand that have little metal stars on them. I’m gonna be so upset when they finally wear out and I need new ones.

50. Can you walk in stilettos? Do you like them? God, no, I’ve tried. Any heel that’s too sharp or pointy or tall is a major problem for me. It’s part of what makes finding shoes such a pain.

51. Do you feel loved? Not always, but yeah. When I remember, or when I ask, or when I’m reminded.

52. How do you express love to those you care about? I try to tell them, but I’m also the type to engage in constant teasing. I’m the friend that punches you in the arm as a show of affection.

53. Favorite term(s) of endearment? The more creative ones. The basics don’t do much for me, honestly, but it’s more about the person saying them anyway.

54. Most romantic thing someone’s ever done for you? Make me feel like I don’t have to try so hard to feel like myself.

55. When is the happiest you’ve ever been? Walking the downtown city streets in winter. It was cold, sure, but it was gorgeous and I finally felt independent for a while.

56. Are you happy right now? Yeah, I’d say so.

57. What makes you smile? Bad jokes, among other things.

58. Do you laugh a lot? Yeah. A lot more than I used to.

59. What’s your favorite kind of aesthetic? Punk/scenecore. They’ve really influenced my more recent style choices.

60. Do you want to marry for love or for some other reason (like money)? Love, definitely.

61. What would your dream wedding look like? Do you want to get married? With someone I love, and the other people I love there too. Somewhere beautiful. I think I do, someday, but it’s not something I’m so worried about.

62. Favorite flower? Roses. Blue Moon Hybrid Tea Roses, in particular, are especially pretty.

63. Favorite artist? I don’t really have one. I do enjoy looking at art, though.

64. Favorite music artist? Owl City.

65. How kind do you think you are? Is kindness important to you? I don’t know. People seem to think I’m kinder than I believe I am. It’s important to me, yeah, to try and help people and to do nice things.

66. Ever made a playlist for someone? A few times. They were never anything special, as far as I’m concerned.

67. Do you have anything you do to physically comfort you when your sad? Such as a favorite blanket? Or a relaxing bath? Long, warm baths and cuddling with my cat. Warm blankets and stories with happy endings.

68. Early bird or night owl? Night owl. I’m a night person.

69. Morning routine? Wake up, do nothing for a while, actually get out of bed and figure out breakfast. While that’s going on, try and figure out if anything important is happening today.

70. Night routine? Get comfortable, then write or daydream til I fall asleep.

71. What is the most lovely quality a person could have in your opinion? Self-confidence and a willingness to help others.

72. Do you cry often? Does crying help you get the emotions out? Do you feel better after? I tend to hold back my feelings til they all fall out. So I end up crying at least twice a month, usually. It helps, yeah.

73. Do you like hugs? From people I feel comfortable with.

74. When was the last time you kissed someone? On the lips? Never.

75. Are you small or tall? Small. I’m 5′0.

76. Do you like wholesome memes? Yes. They’re cute.

79. Have you ever lived in a different country than you currently live in? Nope. I’ve never lived outside this city, only been on trips.

80. Do you like plane flights? Airports? I’ve only flown once, and I was two, so I don’t remember it very well.

82. The beach or a forest? Sand or bugs? Depends on the day. Today, though, forest.

83. What time of day do you tend to be in the best mood? Evening, usually.

84. Do you push yourself to act together and in a good mood even when you aren’t? Yeah, when I’m stressed.

85. Favorite kind of tree? Either maple or pine. I’m Canadian, what can I say?

86. Do you care about the health of the Earth? Yes, but there’s only so much one person can do.

87. What did you like most about your childhood, if anything? Field trips. Adulthood is sorely lacking in field trips.

88. Do you read a lot? What’s your favorite book? I used to. These days I still read, but it’s mostly fanfiction. My favorite books, though, are Tamora Pierce’s Emelan series and the first two books of Kenneth Oppel’s Silverwing trilogy.

89. What are you most nostalgic for at the moment? Trick-or-treating.

90. What’s your favorite personality trait you have? I try to let the people I love know that I love them.

91. List at least ONE thing you love about your appearance. I have pretty great hair.

93. Do you worry a lot? Constantly.

94. The dazzling lights of the city or the relaxing countryside? The city. The countryside’s nice, but the streetlights and the city skyline are what make me feel at home.

95. Ever changed the shoelaces on one of your shoes? For what reason? I actually don’t know how to tie laces, so no. I’ve never been able to pick it up. I might get someone sense to, if I could find cool enough laces.

97. Do you like doing little acts of kindness? Yeah. It feels good to make people happy, you know?

98. How’s your day/night going? Pretty good! I did just spend over an hour on this, but I finished it, so that’s an accomplishment of its own.

#asks #Anonymous #ember why are you like this #ruby speaks #thank you though

2 notes · View notes

herwildwhisper · 5 years ago

Photo

stats: Mar Sandoval, 31 (b. September 19th, 1988.) she/hers (cis.) species: human occupation: mountain guide

alignment: chaotic good veering on chaotic neutral.

+ resilient. loyal. affectionate. capable. perceptive. – aloof. destructive. willful. bitter. blunt.

personality

a half-dry, charming-ish sensibility. “take no shit. do harm if they push you far enough.” values honesty, even if it hurts – this does not mean she’s capable of following through personally (looking at you, Sam.) kind, but not sweet. guarded. could use a friend or five, even if she’s convinced herself she’s better off alone.

aesthetic

widow, née [REDACTED.] whiskey aunt, not wine mom. indeterminate drawl. two dozen bad coping mechanisms in a trench coat, struggling to become a person. kinder than she lets on. angrier than you think she is. looking for answers without knowing the questions. inheriting a mystery; continuing the sketchbooks. a wedding ring on a simple chain. learning to count down from a hundred when all you want is to plant your fist in someone’s face. surviving out of spite. living with loss.

history

( tw physical/verbal domestic / child abuse, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, death of a spouse, mentions of suicide. tl;dr at the end )

BLACKROCK, MT. EARLY MARCH 2011.

For a few years, the Sandoval house has stood empty. Mrs. Sandoval passed away in 2008, and no one managed to track down her son. He left town back in ‘03, a couple years after his father died in an accident, and since then, no one in town has seen hide nor hair of him – not even his pack.

And then, eight years after Dante Sandoval left his family and home behind, his widow shows up in town.

She’s young, too young; only 22. Dark-eyed and dark-haired and dark-minded. She smiles too much, and then she smiles too little. Is the kind of woman who shows up alone at the bar. The kind of woman who tells you to fuck off if she thinks you’re getting too close, too handsy, even if you don’t agree – and very few like that. She gets a job as a mountain guide, and then they don’t see much of her. The house she inherits is left behind like a carcass, just another unpleasant memory as summer stretches on. Then snow shuts down the mountain, and she returns, much to their disappointment. She’s remained a stranger ever since.

(Towns like Blackrock don’t like strangers. Towns like Blackrock don’t like women like Mar Sandoval.)

THE PAST, NOT AS DISTANT AS SHE’D LIKE.

Her parents tried, she thinks. Tried to love her, to love each other, but the bottle won out and the damage was done, their home broken into jagged pieces. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking; maybe they were bickering tyrants from the start, and she just didn’t want it to be true. It didn’t matter where they moved, Texas to Louisiana to Florida – same shit, different scenery. She grew up amidst screaming matches and plates shattered against the wall. Under the constant pressure, Mar fractured, too. She sharpened her edges to survive. Came home with bloody knuckles, and left for school with fresh bruises. She learned the tenets of life from people who had no business teaching it to her: to use leverage, to find meaning in whatever meagre thing you could control, to find fear as natural as breathing. To read a room the moment you walk in. To always look three moves ahead. To take the blame. Even when everything in you was screaming that it wasn’t your fault. To hate yourself for both. That if you excused it all as love, it was okay.

At school, she could be the one giving out beatings, whether they were earned or not. It wasn’t that she always started the fights, though she did that too – but she’d finish them, schoolyard scraps turning into brawling matches when Mar got involved. She was never loud, but she was always angry, rage simmering beneath her skin, a buzzcut saw waiting for an accident, looking for release. A bruise was a bruise was a bruise; it didn’t matter if she left it herself, so long as she could control how it got there, whether through someone else’s fist or her own. Her mind stirred into a constant, exhausting frenzy by thoughts she didn’t have the words for, yet: if you love me, if you love each other, why is it like this?

She left home at 19, slamming the door behind her on her way out, and she never looked back. No plan, no route. She’d never been further north than Atlanta, so it seemed like a good place to start. Got a job as a waitress, saved up every little bit she could, before she left Georgia to continue her trek north. Turned 20 in Tennessee, still no plan in sight – and then, right as she was considering her options, she met Dante.

He wasn’t her first, but he was the first one that mattered. A couple years older, from a small town in Montana, with kind eyes and a nice smile and hands that were firm but gentle. He always had a sketchbook on him; studies of the mountain trail, birds and flowers. No sudden movements. Never raised his voice. He didn’t mind her sharp edges, but before she knew it, they’d been sanded down – still present, but softer than they’d ever been, and better for it. She fell faster than she should have. So did he.

They spent the next few years working as guides on the Appalachian Trail, getting their certificates, and along the way, they got married. Began to plan their future, with a whole life ahead of them that they would share. It was Dante that taught her to be patient, that taught her love had never been – should never be – about leverage, that fear was a cruel thing to cause in someone else. And maybe she was a work in progress, but hey, Mar, so am I.

In retrospect, they both had their secrets. He would tell her about Blackrock with a fondness in his voice, and she would curb her tongue – if you love it so much, why did you leave? She shared what she could with him. Let him reassure her when she faltered, when the things she’d buried came crawling to the surface, when it felt like all the love in the world couldn’t stop her from becoming a black hole that would tear itself apart. They made it work. They were happy. Hopeful.

And then Dante died. Disappeared, technically. But they found his body a week later. Gunshot wound, weapon nearby. Coroner ruled it a suicide, despite Mar’s protests; Dante wouldn’t leave me– there was nothing wrong– why would he–

The pieces they'd mended were broken, and she was left alone with the wreckage, sharp and heavy. Dante would never have done that to her. He wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.

She traveled west in their beat-up car, his ashes and their hiking gear secured in the back. Got her stupid, grief-ridden kicks out of asking obnoxious truckers if her husband could watch, only to let them face the urn. Laughed until she cried when they ran from the ‘crazy bitch’. Came to Blackrock with no intention of staying, only to find herself the recipient of a rickety old house full of family pictures she had no context for, heirlooms and trinkets; memories that weren’t her own, that had nothing to do with her.

And, of course, the collection of sketchbooks depicting wolves. All different sorts, snouts and pelt colours and scars, signed D. Sandoval. The torn old henley at the bottom of a chest down in the basement. The shredded remains of an old journal, the scratch marks by the kitchen door.

BLACKROCK, MT. 2019.

Lonesome, but not lonely. It’s how she likes it, she’s decided. It’s easier, that way. She’s used to it. Isn’t sure if it’s always been her nature, or if it’s just a force of habit, but she hasn’t stopped to ask herself. Mar keeps company when she feels like it, when winter gets too quiet for her taste, and as soon as the snow’s thawed, she’s gone. Just another ghost, until winter calls her back to Blackrock. She knows what it looks like – she arrives, and so do all the other strange things that haunt the town. (But she’s the only strange thing that’s been spotted near the deputy, and she knows the optics of that, too.) She hasn’t done much to improve the wide-spread impression of her. She’s pleasant enough if you haven’t tested her patience, but she remains distant; keeps most everyone at an arm’s length. It’s easier to not get attached, to not get disappointed, that way. To settle for that long life of lonesome, but not lonely.

There are answers to be found in Blackrock, if only she can find the right questions. She’s sure of it. Someone has to know what happened – why he left, why he died, why someone would kill her husband. But until she can find those questions, she observes. She adds her own sketchbooks to the pile. She takes meticulous notes of all the odd, out-of-place things she sees. And she bides her time.

So Mar Sandoval remains a stranger. Drinks her cocoa with a dash of peppermint liqueur, brings a book to the bar, doesn’t give a shit about small town nosying disguised as small town kindness. Takes up odd jobs at nearby ski centres if the money’s tight, and by summer, she is gone. None of them truly know her. None of them ever will.

tl;dr

grew up in an abusive home; has Issues as a result

certified brawler and troublemaker – currently on the mend, but not before she got a Reputation in Blackrock

met her now-departed husband after leaving home. they got married young AF

said husband...... was from Blackrock. said husband....... was a werewolf, but Mar is (so far) unaware

her husband disappeared and was found dead a week later. police ruled it a suicide, Mar did Not Agree

she came to Blackrock in 2011 with a car full of hiking gear and an urn strapped in, a widow at 22. inherited a house full of Weird Things, including sketchbooks filled with drawings of wolves

she had 0 intentions of staying for as long as she has, but she’s convinced the answer to her husband’s death can be found in Blackrock

knows SOMETHING’S up, but not quite what

specific pitches

(aka cherrypick what works for you from my ramblings!)

Redcedar / Teddy

I like to think that Teddy’s parents took care of Mar when she got to town, back in 2011 – maybe they took care of the Sandoval house, or knew the Sandovals?She liked them a good deal, felt grateful for their kindness and indebted to them for it, and with them gone, she sees Teddy as a young woman in a strange town that could maybe need some kindness, too. Mar’s just too awkward to fully commit to it, yet.

Basswood / Sam

It wasn’t necessarily the first reason, and it definitely isn’t the only reason, but a big part of her connection to Sam is that she hopes he could help her piece together the Dante puzzle. It’s not fair, she knows. It’s probably fucked up, asking him to help her figure out what happened to her dead husband, on account of.. whatever it is that they are. She tells herself that’s why she’s yet to really ask him for help with it. This thing between them was never meant to go this far, because now she likes Sam – and that makes her feel guilty, in more ways than one.

Blackthorn / Carson

She sees herself in Carson, sees the woman she used to be, the woman she’s done her best to bury – all fists and venom-veins, ready to set the world on fire. She doesn’t know the cause of Carson’s anger, doesn’t necessarily know Carson all that well in general, but like calls to like. Mar might be trying to reign herself in, these days, but she knows the anger she thinks she sees in Carson, the need for destruction. Pulling them out of that bar was an emotional impulse, one she doesn’t really want to acknowledge: she got cold feet right after. She’s got more on her own plate than she can handle; why did she try to take on someone else’s? That’s why she avoids them now. She has no intention of calling on whatever debt they think they owe her; in her eyes, it was almost selfish to not let nature run its course that night. Almost.

Oak / Diego & older wolves

Dante was 100% a werewolf, and I’d love to potentially plot out the older wolves of the Blackrock pack having known him, if you all are game! They wouldn’t know how much Mar knows about the pack, if she even knows anything, which I think could be a great source of ~drama – especially now that there’s a dead wolf. Diego in particular is someone I think could be cool for this, as he’d be the right age range and would have been there for long enough to have known Dante.

Ash / Romeo

Ash / Romeo is a new face, and Mar knows all-too-well what that’s like. I don’t think she’d be looking for any meaningful friendship, to start with, but I could see her potentially reaching out, just to see who they are, and maybe to let them know that there’s other out-of-towners around.

Sycamore / Eric

Much like herself, Eric doesn’t have a good reputation, though his is probably worse. Depending on his disposition, I could see them being acquaintances, even friends, united by their shared less-than-nice natures, with some drama added in thanks to their respective relations to Sam / Basswood. I also wouldn’t rule out the potential for future hunter plots, depending on where it goes!

wanted connections

( consider these starting points! if something could work if we tweaked it a little to suit your character more, hit me up 💖 also, in the event that something is filled but you’re interested.... hit me up for that too! we can Work It Out )

witness ( Sam – multiple )

Men who won’t take no for an answer isn’t something Mar puts up with. By now, most of the culprits in town have learned their lesson, and leave her alone. In turn, Mar’s gotten better at using her words.. but back when she first came to town, there’s a good chance her anger got the best of her, resulting in someone walking away with a shiner and a split lip. (Hell, push her far enough, and it might happen now.) She’s good at brawls. MUSE B witnessed one such occasion – did they step in, or leave her to it? How do they feel about it?

ghost ( 0/2 )

MUSE B met Mar before she came to Blackrock: maybe it was years ago, down south, while she was a walking carnage, or maybe MUSE B met the two of them, Mar and Dante, leaving them to reconcile the vastly happier past Mar with the current version.

bruiser ( Raine – 1/? )

Mar and MUSE B traded literal blows a couple years back, and the fist-fight ended with no certain victor and both parties bloodied and bruised. Is there a grudging respect – or is it just a grudge?

reflection ( Lola – 1/2 )

Mar isn’t.. sweet the way some folks are, but there’s a kindness there, one that’s easy to forget what with her reputation and penchant for self-isolation. She helped MUSE B out, and asked nothing in return – maybe she let them sleep on the couch one night when things were rough, or maybe she offered company on an evening it was needed. Maybe it happened a while ago, and there’s a tentative friendship, or maybe it’s fresh!

ex-fwb ( 0/2? )

Mar arrived in 2011, self-destructive and reeling after her husband’s death. mistakes were made. good ones, but still mistakes. MUSE B and Mar had an unspoken thing for a while, before she broke it off. Are they still friends, or are things icy? How serious was it? How does MUSE B feel about the rumoured fling Mar has with the deputy?

#hornbeam.#shipper #shivershipper #about #biography

8 notes · View notes