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americasmarauders · 4 years ago

Note

What about ....

“i’m not worthy of anybody’s love.” “that’s not true, you’re worthy of mine.” followed by the lover breaking eye-contact… + a love confession

Followed with tentative kisses in the dark

With Jason Todd x reader ❤❤❤❤❤

Lots of love xoxo

did this get completly out of hand? yes, yes it did. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but suddenly I had 12 pages of angst ready to make their way into the world.

I’m so sorry it took so long, elle, life got in my way, but now you have like, 6k+ words to make up for it. I really hope you like it.

warnings: completly unedited, sorry for the typos :))

words: 6,856

masterlist #

Aged 14, sometime in September.

Mason Anderson was the biggest dick she had ever met. He was petty and jealous and he picked on her just because. She just wanted peace, quietly resolving the homework she had spent an entire week working on. The library was empty, safe for a couple of other students when he barged in and robbed her of her papers.

He claimed he needed it more than her, he was the one almost flunking out of the class. She demanded her homework back, but he ran towards the boy’s bathroom with her work. It wasn’t the first time that sullen feeling of despair had been planted on her by Mason Anderson, it still didn’t make it any easier.

She sat in front of the boys bathroom, hugging her knees in an attempt to find comfort. She kept thinking that she could do it again, she had done it once, theoretically it would be faster to do it a second time. Light footsteps echoed through the hall, her eyes found their way to the source of the noise.

Jason Todd was a tiny kid with a big brain and an even bigger heart. He had helped her with English more times than she cared to admit. Sometimes she would see him walking towards the alley near the Academy, holding an extra package of chips to the little kid that stayed there sometimes. She liked Jason Todd, considering him the only alley she had inside the cold walls of the Gotham Academy.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, delicately, sitting beside her. “I thought you were gonna finish Statam’s paper today.”

“Mason Anderson stole it,” her eyes were cast downwards, looking at the seams of the floor with an almost inhuman interest. “He wanted to copy it, and I wouldn’t let him so he decided to flush down the toilet instead.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to her, sitting next to her on the floor.

“It’s okay,” she shook her head, stretching her legs in front of her. “I just,” she sighed, trying to find the words, “I spent one week working on that, and I really needed the grade, you know? But he just didn’t care, he just thought of himself.”

Jason looked at her, softly. His eyes held a certain fire behind them, something she could never really describe what it was. It was entrancing, it calmed the pace of her heart. He didn’t say anything before getting up and marching towards the boys bathroom.

She didn’t hear anything going on inside, her mind imagining all sorts of scenarios where Jason would emerge from the bathroom beaten and defeated, Mason walking out completely victorious, with a shiny top grade Literature paper in hand. Her blood boiled at the image, more so than it did before. She got up from the ground, determined to help Jason win the fight, even if her papers were already down the plumbing.

But the door flung open, her friend walking out calmly, clutching her homework delicately. He offered her a smile, and as the door closed behind Jason she could see Mason on the ground gripping his nose in pain.

“Here,” the papers were completely dry to the touch, her confusion deepening. “He was copyin’ it.”

“I can’t believe you got this back,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought… I thought I'd have to redo it.”

“Nah,” he smiled shyly, “I would’ve helped ya.”

“I can’t really depend on you for everything, Jason,” she replied politely. “It’s not fair.”

“I got your back,” he affirmed, “ya don’t need to worry.”

And it meant the world to her that he did.

Aged 16, October 12th.

Jason Todd and her became friends after the Mason Anderson incident. She didn’t know what Jason had said to him, what had he done, all she knew was that Mason never bothered her again after that.

It was the night of her 16th birthday. It was late, probably past 3 in the morning when Jason carefully landed on the fire escape that led to her bedroom. He carefully carried a small box, wrapped neatly with a blue bow. He had chosen the gift lovingly, his heart warm with her. Jason hadn’t expected her to be such an integral part of his life, but just as quietly as she arrived, she placed herself in his heart permanently. She was his friend, true friend, she didn’t expect anything other than his company and support, something he was glad to provide.

His knuckles lightly grazed her window, making the softest noise. Her shades were partially open, he could see her body lying comfortably on her bed. She moved slightly, her body turning towards the window. Her hands rubbed her eyes delicately, seeing Jason smile awkwardly at her. She got up and dragged her feet towards him, opening her window to him.

“What’re you doing here?” her voice was slurred, intoxicated with sleep.

“You know, you should really lock your windows,” he commented, “Gotham’s a dangerous city.”

“Jay,” she warned, “what’re you doing here? It’s…”she searched for her clock, “fuck, 3 in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” he responded clearly, as if it was the most obvious reason why he was on her fire escape, on a cold October night only wearing a light jacket.

She blinked at his blunt response, confused on what to say to him. “You’ll see me tomorrow, Jay, I don’t understand why’d you come all this way just to see me.”

“Because it’s you,” he shrugged, stepping into her bedroom silently. “You really thought I wouldn’t see you on your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. A soft breeze came in through the window sending shivers down her spine. Jason closed the window for her and she sent a silent thank you towards his way. “I thought you wouldn’t bother.”

“Well,” he extended the little box to her. Her fingers brushed on his softly, a shock sent on his skin at the touch, “I couldn’t not see you.”

Her hands hugged the box carefully, hesitant on what to do with what was given to her. “Open it,” he urged her.

She eyed him suspiciously, undoing carefully the blue bow that decorated the gift. Opening the box, a tiny robin pendant next to two tiny stones pendants, an opal and an onyx: her birthstone and his. “Wow,” she breathed out, her heart racing inside her chest. Suddenly, she didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Jason, this is… You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had,” he stated, his eyes soft and loving, lingering on her more than they should. “You mean a lot to me, darling.”

Her eyes glinted underneath the pale moonlight streaming through the half closed curtains of her room. Jason’s breath hitched quietly at the sight of her, disheveled and sleepy and yet the most perfect person to grace his life. She was at a loss for words for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth, not knowing how to react. Her eyes trailed frenetically over the pendants, trying to find meaning in those.

“Why a robin?” the inquiry startled Jason. He wasn’t expecting to explain himself, much less explain why he had given her a robin pendant. She had no clue what he did when the night fell, who Bruce actually was and he intended to keep her in the dark about that aspect of his life. She didn’t need to know anyway, and telling her would only put her in danger. That was what Bruce made her believe.

“It reminded me of you,” he answered, simply, his eyes fixated on her angelic face.

It wasn’t untrue. Robins were friendly and protected over, birds that should never be harmed. Jason made sure of that, he had her back, always, and he knew she had his. But mostly, he wanted her to have a piece of him everywhere she went. If something were to happen, he wanted to guarantee he wouldn’t be a footnote in her life. What a magnificent life that would be, he knew.

Her eyes ran on his face, looking for a hint that he wasn’t sincere, that he was just messing with her. The thought was more heartbreaking than she anticipated. She found nothing malicious in his face, in his eyes, and smiled back at him. “Thank you, Jay,” she kissed his cheek delicately, her lips barely brushing his skin. It was enough to send both of them into a frenzy of feelings, a thousand thoughts running through their heads.

“Here,” he extended his hands, his eyes clear and full of emotion for her, “I’ll put it on for you.”

She handed him the box, turning around so he could clasp the hook of the necklace. Jason was considerably smaller than her - she guessed it was because of the years of malnutrition he endured when he lived on the streets - so she sat on her bed to meet his height. His fingers brushed slightly at the back of her neck, sending goosebumps on her body.

It was when she turned to look at him again that she realized that maybe Jason wasn’t just a friend to her. Maybe the interest she had in Jason, or how her heart raced when she saw him for the first time in the day weren’t because he was her friend. Maybe it was because she had decided to love him with all her soul.

Aged 16, April 28th.

It was ironic how sunny it was in Gotham that day. It was like nothing had happened, the world hadn’t gotten the memo that it was supposed to be gloomy and sad outside, to match the pain she felt inside.

On the deep green grass of Gotham cemetery, stood her and Jason’s family, listening to a priest preach something meaningless to her. Nothing mattered to her anymore, her friend, best friend, was buried deep into the earth, 6 feet under. She would never get to see him again, hear his laugh, take in his smile. She would never have another birthday with him, give him his favorite books, tell him she loved him. Her eyes were fixed on the fresh dirt lain over his shiny coffin, her hand fidgeting on the robin pendant Jason had gifted mer months before. It wasn’t an open casket, she couldn’t even see him for the last time.

The call was the most confusing moment she had ever gone through. He didn't even tell her he was going after his mom. He didn’t even get to explain that to her. Jason just burst through her window late at night, saying he was leaving Gotham for a few weeks, anger seeping through his pores and contaminating the room. His knuckles were badly bruised, as her fingertips lightly brushed he hissed. She didn’t question him, it didn’t even go through her head. He had said he wanted to find a part of him, and she nodded, wishing him luck.

Looking back, she wished she had begged him to stay, to find that part of him in Gotham, with her away from the perils of foreign bombs. Tears sprouted in her eyes as the thought passed through her head. It wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t predict a tragedy would have happened. It had become a mantra to her, and sometimes repeating it to herself didn’t help at all.

Bruce Wayne stood next to her, stoic, his face stony. It almost didn’t look like he had lost a son. But she saw how his jaw tensed, how it was similar to when Jason was upset and didn’t want to tell her about it. She could see how broken he was inside, how angry and desperate. She felt that too.

The priest stopped talking and the four people standing on that lawn let out a stuck breath of relief. Jason’s brother approached his Father, walking away from her. She stared at the stone, cold like Jason’s body, with the engrave ‘Jason Todd, beloved son and friend’. It didn’t make justice to what Jason actually was, he was much more than just a son and a friend, but it was what they used to describe him. If Jason had decided what his epitaph would be, surely would be a dramatic quote from Shakespeare.

Her name was called out in a posh british accent and she turned toward the person. What she saw was an older gentleman, holding a black umbrella to protect his baldness from the sun. A thin mustache hung over his upper lip, molded into a sad frown. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. Master Jason talked a lot about you,” he commented with his left hand behind his back.

“All good things, I hope?” she joked quietly, her eyes trailed to her black shoes, wet grass glued to the sides of it.

“The best things, I assure,” his voice was firm and calm, his accent oozed her security, something she was eager to cling on. He reached for the inner pocket of his blazer, pulling a crisp white card. She furrowed her eyebrows, accepting the card. On it, it had Alfred’s name, his profession underneath and a phone number. “If you ever find yourself needing anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

She nodded, her thumb lightly brushing the expensive paper on her hand. “Thank you Mister Pennyworth,” her eyes found the old man, the wrinkles around it making his stern stance seem gentler. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come over for some tea?” he offered. “I’m sure Master Bruce wouldn’t mind having his son’s friend over.”

She wanted to, a force inside her compelled her to accept his offer. But her heart was broken, and she didn’t know if she was ready to enter what used to be Jason’s home so fast after he was buried. At the same time, maybe she didn’t have the nerve to say no to such a kind person. “I--,” she hesitated, “okay, I’ll have some tea.”

Aged 18, mid-August.

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred,” her hands fiddling with the necklace Jason had given her long ago. “It feels like I’m at a crossroads and every sign points to the direction my heart doesn’t want to go.”

The old butler poured her mint tea - her favorite, as he had learned over the weekly visits she paid him - calmly and firmly as she ranted. “What is holding you back?”

She looked at Alfred, her eyes confused at the question. She hadn’t lingered on the fact of why she didn’t want to accept the scholarship on Metropolis. Her brain told her it was only logical, she would miss her parents, her weekly meeting with Alfred, her hometown. But Alfred was always one step ahead, he had a sixth sense as she had come to learn. “You know,” she replied softly, her eyes lingering on the beautiful teacup in front of her.

He said her name, getting her attention. “Master Jason isn’t here anymore,” he stated simply, laying cookies on her plate, “you don’t have to stay behind for him.”

“I know,” she picked up the spoon and twirled it between her fingers. “But,” she hesitated, not knowing how to phrase her feelings, “Alfred, I can’t even think of it. I can’t wrap my brain around leaving him.”

“You are not leaving him,” his voice was calm and gentle, softening her panic. “You are moving on.”

She shook her head, her eyes shut close tightly. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered, “I feel like I’m meant to be here, Alfred. I can’t really explain it.”

“Well, if you do decide to stay in Gotham, I hope we can continue our weekly teas,” Alfred said, a tone of hope in his voice.

She smiled at him, her eyes filled with kindness. “If I do decide to stay, I’d love to keep our weekly teas,” her smile stayed as she uttered the words. “I appreciate our time together, Alfred.”

“I’m honored,” he said to her, bringing the teacup to his lips.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her and she turned around to see who it was. Turning around, her hand bringing the teacup to her lips, she saw a disheveled Bruce Wayne walking towards her. His eyes were barely opened, prominent bags under his eyes cast a shadow on his features. His tie hung untied on his neck, his shirt over his pants, the sleeves folded up to his elbows. It was a stark contrast from the Bruce Wayne she had seen at Jason's funeral, two years back, the one she saw frequently splattered on the news front pages.

“Oh,” he stopped on his tracks, his hands falling limply to his sides. His jaw tensed and, suddenly, a mask fell on his face, the vulnerability he displayed a few seconds before gone. He wasn’t anymore Bruce, a guy who had just woken up and wanted something from the kitchen of his oversized home, he was the Bruce Wayne, now. The velocity of the transformation haunted her. “I didn’t realize we had visitors.”

She rested the teacup pack on the counter, and got up from the stool. “I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne,” she muttered, extending her hand, introducing herself. “I am, was, Jason’s friend.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “I remember you.”

Alfred looked pointenly at Bruce as pulled a mug from a cabinet. He poured coffee for himself, and leaned against the counter next to Alfred. She stood there next to her stool, paralyzed in his presence. Everytime she was present in Wayne Manor, Bruce was either too busy to ever grace them with his presence, or away on some business trip she never bothered to ask what for. “We have weekly teas, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, his tone laced with something deeper than announcing their weekly traditions.

Bruce’s jaw tightened somehow and his blue eyes rested on her. Her eyes drifted to her teacup, her tea getting cold. She was itching to grab it and drink it, but she felt uncomfortable even moving a inch from her place, much less feeling the liberty to resume her previous behavior. “Really?” his eyebrows shot up, his head tilting slightly. “Please, seat, pretend I’m not here.”

She hesitated before sitting back down. Her hands hugged her teacup, the warmth of it seeping through her skin. It was hard to pretend he was not there next to her, looking at her with judging eyes. She wondered if he remembered her from the funeral, if he had thought of her when he was thinking of Jason’s legacy, what his son had left behind. Her eyes looked up at Bruce before quickly darting back down to her tea, “Yeah, I don’t really wanna go to Metropolis,” she whispered, resuming her previous conversation with Alfred. The air in the kitchen was tense and awkward, she couldn’t look any of them men in the room in the eyes.

“I’m certain Gotham U will admit you,” Alfred reassured her, “You’re a brilliant person, they’d be fools to let you go.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her eyes were focused on the tea, like it was the most important thing in that kitchen. “They usually don’t take this long to send the letters, it’s making me nervous.”

“Gotham U, huh?” Bruce chipped in. “What’s your major?”

She looked expantly at Alfred, trying to see if he knew any of Bruce’s intentions. But she often forgot how impassive Alfred was, how in control of his emotions he was, something she lacked. He didn’t show her anything, she assumed he knew of something, like usually. “Applied physics,” she responded, quietly.

“Wow,” Bruce breathed out, “impressive.”

She offered him an awkward smile in return. It was hard to find a response to the reaction of others when they became aware of her major. It was highly uncommon, and usually those who followed that path were men. When people discovered what she wanted to do with her life, they almost always reacted like they had found an unicorn.

“Well, when you do graduate, look for me, I can help you get a job,” Bruce politely offered, his tone kind. She looked up at him for the first time, his expression almost fatherly.

“Thank you Mr. Wayne, that’s very kind of you,” she bored her head, looking down at her tea once again.

His phone rang, and he picked it up from his pocket. Her eyes trailed over to his expression, his jaw once again tense. “You’re welcome,” he replied, feigning happiness and comfort. “If you’ll excuse me,” he left the kitchen in broad steps, his shoulders tense and determined.

That was the first time she came to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne was a strange man.

Aged 22, end of May.

College was an excruciating experience, but finally she had left it all behind. With her diploma in hands, she finally felt a small semblance of freedom, something she had longed when isinde the four walls of her old dorm in Gotham U.

She stepped into the ground floor of Wayne towers, her shoes clicking nervously on the floor. She had made sure to dress properly to meet Bruce Wayne, unsure of what he’d think if she showed up dressed like a broke college student, something that she very much was. It was the mentality of fake it till you make it, aim a bit higher and maybe you’ll get there. She desperately wished she’d get there.

One of the receptionists let her in, indicating the floor in which she should go to. Her hands sweat gripping the folder with her recommendations and her resume, she gulped looking at the elevator intently. Her free hand found its way to the tiny robin gently resting on her neck. She wished Jason was there to help her, give her tips on what to say to his Father to make him glad, and what to avoid doing so that he’d hire her. She could imagine him if she closed her eyes, next to her, barely taller than her, smiling at her wishing her good luck. The elevator dinged, bringing her back to reality. Jason wasn’t next to her, and she didn’t have anyone to give her tips on what to say to her potential boss. She was alone, just like she had been for six long years.

In spite of the hundred floors of the building - quite literally - the elevator ride was fast. When the doors opened, it revealed a small greeting room, with a couple of couches and a tall window illuminating it. She eyed directly in front of her, the double doors with a tiny plaque with the name Bruce Wayne engraved on it. Her eyes lingered on it for a couple of moments, as she walked towards the lonesome couch next to the big window. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating heart. She wondered if Bruce was already inside the room, if he remembered what he had offered to her all those years ago, or if he had just been polite and did not plan on following with it at all.

After that strange meeting with him four years back, she had barely seen him again. A couple of times she had seen a shadow passing through the corridors while she was heading out of the Manor, someone she assumed for the sake of her mental health it was Bruce Wayne and not a ghost. The notion that he was a strange man only intensified, adding the perception that he was hiding something. She knew he was a good actor, but she could see tiny cracks and slips, an ability gained from years of loneliness. It was hard to say what it was that he was keeping a secret from everyone, but there was something there.

Her name was called and she saw Bruce Wayne standing underneath the frame of the double doors that lead to his office. She got up promptly and walked towards him, her grip on her folder tight. His hand was extended and she shook it professionally, pretending like she wasn’t panicking inside.

“I have someone I’d like for you to meet,” he stated, guiding her inside his office. The office was probably four times bigger than the small room she had stayed previously, the large windows providing a beautiful view from Gotham. You could almost pretend it was a normal city looking out from that window. “This,” he motioned to the man sitting on a cozy nook in the back of the room, “is Lucius Fox.”

The man was big and well built, his round glasses standing on the tip of his nose. He smiled at her, crinkles forming beside his eyes. His hand found his glasses, taking them off and putting them in his pocket. “Nice to meet you, Miss. mr. Wayne has talked a lot about you,” he stated, his hand extended for her to take it.

She looked back at Bruce, confused. After all, he remembered her and he remembered his offer. She turned back to Lucius and shook his hand, a determined expression on her face. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fox.”

“Lucius Fox is the head of our R&D department, and has agreed to take you as his personal apprentice,” Bruce explained.

Shock overcame her, her eyes wide. She looked between Lucius’ kind smile and Bruce’s stoic stance, unable to believe the opportunity was real. “Really?” she uttered incredulously.

“I have some personal projects and I’d very much need the help,” Lucius explained, calmly. “Mr. Wayne has talked highly of you, I’m eager to see what you’re capable of doing.”

“I--,” she shook her head, trying to get rid of the hesitation, “thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce responded, a small smile gracing his lips. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Aged 24, April 26th.

The humid air of the cave made sweat drip down her face as she tinkered away with a broken gadget she had designed for Bruce’s night time activities, as she had so dearly called it.

It was a new development, the cave and the capes and the vigilantism. The two years she invested working with Lucius all served a greater purpose to Bruce. She was to be the next Lucius Fox, help provide Batman, or rather Bruce - in her head it was still confusing to assume that the guy who had given her a job was the ‘Dark Knight’ - with gadgets capable of doing everything that his physical capabilities couldn’t. Lucius was old and reaching retirement, and even if he loved his job, he was reaching his limit. She was beyond grateful for his guidance, she had learned so much. But he had left her a fucking weird job. There was no other way to describe it.

The cave was quiet, Bruce had left sometime before, she could only hear Alfred quietly talking to Bruce through the comms and the drip-drip of water falling from the ceiling and hitting the small lake underneath her. She had settled in a little abandoned nook, her tools all scattered on top of her table. She rested the screw driver she was working with on the table, lifting the magnifying lens. She rubbed her face, tired of looking towards the tiny malfunctioning screen.

Her hands remained on her face, concealing her emotions. The robin pendant always felt especially heavy on the 26th of April. It had been 8 years since she had seen Jason, and as pathetic as it sounded, she never really got over the loss of him. They always felt particularly lost, she couldn’t focus on anything other than him, running circles around any problem presented to her. Looking at the gadget, it felt nearly impossible to find a solution to it, her mind foggy with sadness and grief that she could never really shake off, even with years between her and the day he had died.

The knowledge that Bruce kept everything as Jason had left, and even made a little homage to his Robin days in a secret corner of the cave, hidden from view, was heavy in her heart. She struggled to keep her eyes trailed to her task and not at the memory of Jason. She took a sharp breath, trying desperately to sew herself together. It was truly pathetic how much it still affected her, how open the wound still was.

A sharp motor sound echoed through the walls of the cave, disturbing the few bats that hung from the ceiling. A guy built like a fucking brick wall parked his bike on the platform, taking long strides towards where Alfred stood. He adorned a cracked red helmet that glistened in the white lights that illuminated the pathway. His heavy footsteps echoed through, her eyes unable to escape from him. She approached silently, praying that that loose panel near the little stairs that lead to the main computer wouldn’t scratch underneath her weight.

“Where the fuck is Bruce?” he growled, his hands balled into fists next to him. His leather jacket was worn and old, its sleeves bunched up near his elbow, exposing his veiny forearms. The cracked part of the helmet revealed his blue eyes, sparkling in a familiar way. It tugged her heartstrings, her hand instinctively went to her robin. It couldn’t be, Jason was dead.

“He’s on patrol, Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly, his eyes trailed to the screens in front of him. Alfred acted like this man’s fits of anger were completely normal.

Her brain repeated that it wasn’t Jason, it was a mere coincidence that this man’s name was the same as her dead best friend’s. Jason was a tiny and scrawny kid, he wasn’t tall and thick like this man. Jason wasn’t bitter and prone to anger fits, even if he was angry most of the time. He was silent and kind and sweet, this man looked to be the opposite of it.

“He promised, Alfred, where is he?” he growled, his fist slamming on the table. “He fucking promised.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon, if you’d like to wait,” Alfred motioned to the medical bay, the gurney sitting there on its lonesome. The man huffed, marching to the gurney, otherwise ignoring her presence a few feet away.

She approached Alfred quietly. “Who was that?” her voice laced with curiosity and fear.

Alfred looked at her serenely, knowing something she didn’t. He smiled at her, teh crinkles around his eyes appearing generously. “Why don’t you find out?,” he responded to her camly.

She took it as an order, and made her way towards the small infirmary area. Her footsteps were light and determined, her hand clutching the robbing resting on her chest tightly. Her brain ran over scenarios on how likely it was that this person had almost every physical attribute to her best friend Jason, if he had taken steroids for the past 8 years. It wasn’t likely, but in light of her new knowledge, of how close the supernatural was to her, it was very much possible.

“Do you want me to take a look?” she asked quietly, shifting the weight from her heels to the tips of her toes. She felt so small in his presence, something she didn’t feel with Bruce, oddly. Maybe it was because Bruce didn’t give off such menacing vibes when he was near her, or maybe it was because her brain was unconsciously comparing this man to her Jason, who had always been smaller than her. “At the helmet, I mean.”

He eyed her surgically, analyzing everything about her. His eyes rested on her pendants, widening slightly in recognition. It took almost everything in her to control her beating heart, to control her brain trying to say that in fact that man before her was her Jason, and it wasn’t her brain playing tricks on her.

He gently took his helmet off, revealing his crisp black hair cooly laying on his forehead. His eyes focused on the helmet, his arms extended to give it to her gently. Her eyes would leave his face, a face she had longed to see for eight excruciatingly long years. His eyes had remained the same, after all: kind and sweet. His face, however, told a story of hardships and pain, hardened by whatever he had been through all these years. She didn’t know how to feel, if she should feel betrayed he hadn't trusted her enough to say that he was alive, that he was six feet under anymore, or if she should feel elated that Jason was alive and she could finally tell him all the things she wanted to.

Her fingers brushed him slightly, as she picked up the broken helmet from his hands. His hands still felt the same, her heart noticed, picking up a beat. She looked at the crack that exposed half of his face, the electrical parts fizzling dangerously. Her eyes focused on Jason once again, her lips shut painfully. The tears that came to her eyes were inevitable, trembling fingers reaching at her robin pendant, clutching it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” he shook his head gently, “it’s not your fault.”

She could see he wanted to touch her, but something held him back. She wouldn’t find out what until much later.

Aged 24, August 16th.

Jason had promised her he would show up, and he never broke his promises. That was what she repeated to herself, late at night. She had prepared everything for his birthday, bought a present for him and baked a cake. She had said that he was supposed to appear at seven. It was well past midnight, the cake had found its way back to the fridge, the present was back in her closet, and he hadn’t showed up yet.

A part of her kept telling her to give up, her best friend had stood her up: Jason changed fundamentally, he wasn’t the same boy he was when she met him and it was foolish to hang on to that notion; it was perfectly plausible that he had the habit of breaking promises now. But she was well aware of that, she saw it in the tiny things how much Jason was transformed, it still didn’t change the fact that she knew he valued loyalty above all else, and that included loyalty to his words. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

She changed out of the cute dress she was wearing, feeling foolish and sad that she was about to give up most of the hope that he would show up. Her pyjamas welcomed her comfortably, a safe space to let the heartbreak settle on her. He won’t break his promise, she repeated mentally, he won’t. The mantra did little to soothe the growing dread inside her, the notion that maybe she didn’t know him as well as she did. That he didn’t tell her everything that day, that he didn’t trust her anymore. It hurt more than she anticipated.

Sleep was almost consuming her when she heard a loud clang outside her bedroom. She shook awake, throwing the covers off her instinctively. Her hand grabbed the baseball bat that rested beside her bed, bringing it up and close to her. With slow steps, she approached the window. Her fear settled when she saw the familiar red helmet staring back at her, begging to let him in. She dropped the bat on the floor, opening the window.

He got in her room awkwardly, struggling to pass his huge frame through a tiny space. She reached to help him, offering her hands. He took them, butterflies running amok on her tummy. “You’re late,” she commented, trying to mask the hurt in her voice.

“I know,” he said, taking off his helmet and dropping it on top of her bed. “I’m sorry.”

She hummed looking at him underneath the moonlight seeping through her window. She hadn’t gotten used to how big he became, and how smaller she felt in his presence. She was by no means a small woman, but his entire being could encapsulate her with a simple hug, and not the other way around like it used to be. “Why are you late?” she moved to sit on the bed, the helmet rolling off the bed delicately.

He looked at her, sitting down next to her gently. “I don’t know,” he answered, rubbing his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“Why do I feel like you’re not being honest with me?” her head tilted, looking at his beautiful profile. There was a scar connecting his right temple to the corner of his upper lip, and it made him even more beautiful than he already was. He fascinated her to no end, his brain, his looks, his entire being was what made her keep going, the light on the end of her tunnel.

His eyes trailed over her face, looking for something she guessed he wouldn’t find. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

“What do you mean, Jason,” she breathed out, confused at the inquiry. “I’m your friend, I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

“No, you’re not,” he shook his head, his hands balled into fists and his eyes closed. “You’re not supposed to be kind to me,” he got up, his back towards her.

“Stop it, Jason, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, her voice shaking a bit.

“You’re supposed to be angry at me. I abandoned you, left you alone, and when I came back I didn’t tell you, I didn’t look for you,” he continued, trying to manipulate her emotions.

“Why are you saying these things, Jason, they’re not true,” she got up, her voice no longer shaking, determined and focused.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he turned to her, his eyes tortured and sad. “I don’t deserve your kindness and friendship. I’m not worthy of it.”

“Jay, I--” she started, but Jason interrupted her.

“Don’t, please. I’m not worthy of anyone’s love,” his voice was heavy with emotion. She discovered that Jason was often ruled by two main emotions: sadness and anger. In that moment, she could only see those in him and a part of her broke.

“That’s not true, you’re worthy of mine,” her voice was so honest and raw, it caught Jason by surprise. She didn’t know what he expected out of her at that moment, maybe to give in to his spiral of bad thoughts and self flagellation, but she refused to let him believe those awful things. “Jason, you really don't know?”

He remained in silence, his eyes wide and shocked, focused on the ground. His jaw was tense and his hands balled into fists tightly. She took a hesitant step towards him, reaching for his hands. They relaxed under her touch and she threaded her fingers through his. It wasn’t hard to notice how perfectly they fit with each other, like to halves of a whole. “I’ve loved you ever since I was 14 and you marched into the boys bathroom to get my lit homework back from Mason Anderson,” she whispered, her eyes focused on his face, while his were focused on their hands together. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it, Jay. But I can’t let you believe all those horrible things you said. Not when I love you more than anything in this world.”

He stayed silent for a couple of moments, her heart beating erratically inside her chest, fearing she had screwed up their friendship for good. In a way, it was worst to know he was out there and didn't want to speak to her because she dared to tell him about her love for him. “Please say something,” she begged him quietly.

His eyes finally found hers, his hands breaking the link they formed. He rested his hands on her cheeks gently, and she dared say, lovingly. Her heart started beating excitedly, the fear slowly dissipating as his gaze got more intense.

His lips brushed against hers, her eyes fluttering closed at the contact. He kissed her gently, a love delicate and fragile, just acknowledged between them both. His grip on her was firm, his thumb grazing delicately on her cheekbones. Her hands thread through his soft hair, still slightly humid from the sweat caused by the helmet. The air was charged with want, tentative kiss toeing the line between what it was and something more.

She wished to stay like that forever. She prayed to whatever was out there in the Universe, to allow her that happiness. To stay kissing her love tentatively in the dark for as long as she could, as long as he’d let her.

Jason broke the kiss, his forehead resting on hers. His fingers found their way to the back of her head, cupping it softly. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing with hers. She reached for his lips once again, like a magnet finding its match. “I love you so much,” he reassured.

They kissed once again, not intending to break apart any time soon.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine

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leftski-art · 3 years ago

Note

First off- Love your art. Big, hard yet somehow soft and warm. I can't really explain but I feel like all your characters smell great and give serotonine-filled hugs.

I would just love to know your drawing process. All your lines and colors are so clean, so straight, so nice. How do sketches look? Whats the walkthrough. Tell me your secrets. I beg of you.

Thank you! It’s a running joke among my D&D group that my characters give the best hugs, so I’d say your feeling is right ^^

Secrets can be found below 👀

The tools I use are as follows

a small Wacom Intuos tablet

Clip Studio Paint (sketch, lineart, flat colours, shading)

Photoshop (textures, backgrounds and lighting effects, colour correction, abusing the Liquify tool to try to fix anatomy mistakes)

Sketches

My sketches usually look something like this and involve a lot of scribbling and experimentation and use of the Transform tool until I end up with something I like. I kinda just feel out the shapes as I go and am constantly redoing and adjusting things.

The different colours are just so I can differentiate between the different elements and it doesn't all just become a giant scribbly mess when I'm trying to line it after.

Lines

As for my lineart, half of it is just a result of practice. I've been doing lineart + cell shading as my main style for over ten years now so I like to think I've managed to acquire some decent line control in that time.

The other half is a good stabilizer and pen pressure settings on the brushes I use.

Before Clip Studio Paint, I used Paint Tool SAI for my lineart because I could never get line results I was happy with in Photoshop, but not only does CSP have phenomenal stabilizer settings, its vector layers feature (which automatically turns your lines into vector shapes regardless of the brush you use!) has also made the process way easier by allowing me to edit and adjust my lines after the fact.

The one tip I can share when it comes to lineart is to take advantage of momentum. I never draw directly on my lineart layer; I make a new layer above it, draw on that one, and then merge it down every few minutes. This lets me use momentum to carry my brush strokes and then erase the parts that overlap without worrying about messing up the stuff I already have, resulting in smoother lines than if I had tried to precisely draw a straight line the entire time.

In the example above, the green line is on its own layer and can be easily erased without damaging the black lines around it.

I also tend to use a smaller brush for interior/detail lines and thicker ones for the outer edges of a shape just because I think it looks nice.

Process in General

Honestly, my process is just a lot of trial and error. I draw a line, undo it, draw a line, undo it. I sketch several hairstyles or outfits on different layers and then swap between them like some weird dress up game until I decide which to keep. I experiment with adjusting the hue and saturation of flat colours until I find something I like. I’m a very “make it up as I go” kind of artist, and really, creator in general; and rarely is the finished piece the result of any sort of plan.

That being said, I do have a general order in which I do things:

Sketch a bunch of random things until I find something I like

Merge all sketch layers and reduce the layer opacity until it’s very faint

Make a lineart layer above, then a layer to actually draw on above that

Draw the lineart using the techniques mentioned above (I often jump around and line different sections randomly), fixing any wonky parts of the sketch as I go

Make a separate layer below the finished lineart for each differently-coloured element (eg: hair layer, skin layer, pants layer, etc.) and fill with fill bucket*

Tweak each layer’s colour until vaguely happy with it

Make a layer below all other layers, select the entire interior of the lineart, fill it with black to fill any tiny gaps left by the fill bucket

Make a layer above all other layers, set it to multiply, draw shadows with a light grey-blue-purple colour (I shade one element at a time by selecting the area and then drawing within that selection on the shading layer)

Repeat step 7 with a layer set to Overlay and a light-medium grey for highlights

Open the image in Photoshop and apply gradients, patterns, lighting etc.

Notice all the mistakes it’s too late to fix and start second guessing the entire piece, say “screw it”, save it as a .png, and post anyway!

And I think that’s about it.

Sorry if that was confusing, I’m not sure how much previous knowledge of these programs you have or how much detail I should go into, but I hope maybe some of it was interesting and/or educational lol

I also have a short process video here that shows the steps one at a time that might help you visualise it better

- - - - - - -

*In case anyone’s brave enough to try using this as a tutorial and isn’t sure what I mean here:

CSP lets you set the lineart layer as a reference layer and still fill the colour on a different layer as though the lines were present on that layer. In other programs you may have to select the area you want to colour on the lineart layer manually with the magic wand tool and then move to the corresponding colour layer before filling it in.

If you use a program where you have to select the area manually, you may want to keep all your tiny detailed lines on a separate lineart layer just so you don’t have to spend time selecting all the small gaps between them. Alternatively, you could just fill it by hand with a brush.

#leftski answers #art process

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thotsforvillainrights · 3 years ago

Note

I'm unsure if you write for moonfish(I rarely see anyone write for him), but could you do a mini scenario of moonfish running/heading back to see his ,maybe former?, S/O after he [[SPOILER ALERT CH 297]] broke out of Tartarus? Like maybe the spooky tooth dude let muscular join him on his journey back to his beloved reader. (The reader can be happy to see him or scared that he's back or whatever floats your boat, it's up to you! <3)

You don't have to do this or you can switch it with overhaul and/or kurono(?) If you don't feel comfortable writing for moony.

P. S sorry for my horrid grammar

(First of all, you grammar is just fine! Second of all, I actually do write for him! My masterlist is pinned and I think you can find a few of my other works for him there as well! He’s also on my list of people I write for so no worries. Poor baby has almost zero requests so I’m not switching him with Kai, this is his time to shine lol)

~Make it Back to You~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

Two people that never even got to have a proper break-up in the first place. As far as you were both concerned the relationship was still going, just put on hold by a few things.

At the end of the day, you were both left mourning what could have been. It wasn’t your fault for falling in love with a villain and vice versa for him falling in love with a civilian (or hero if you choose to be). Things were hellish at this point. Every single day you exhausted yourself trying to save his very life while he was busy slamming his head against the walls at the thought of him losing you. There must be something that can done, right? You ask this of as many as lawyers you can think to ask. They all tell you the same thing about death row. Moonfish was done for. Regrets bounced around in his head occasionally while he was locked away behind those doors. Things he could’ve done with his life instead of what led him here. He wonders if he had met you earlier in life would he then still end up in this position as a villain? IF he had met you in time for him to focus on love rather than murder? Could you have gotten him the help and therapy that he needed?

So many questions but there was a silver lining and a single moment to seize a redo right now in this very moment.

Some sort of riot maybe? He’s not sure about the details on things but he knows one things for sure: The once tightly monitored Tartarus Prison was in total chaos. Next thing he knew was that his doors were opened and he was finally able to be free. Without any form of hesitation he slipped out of the back hall and kept taking multiple corners. On the way out he paused for just a moment to offer a hand to his once comrade from the Vanguard to which the man denied it. “Piss off Colgate Man, I don’t need you to guide me out of this hell hole. Besides...” Muscular clenched his fist and excitedly looked down at it. “I’ve got a few smart-mouth guards that spoke a lot of shit to me back when they first brought us here. I’ve got some unfinished business and I haven’t whopped ass in a long time.” Muscular quickly stood up and pushed past moonfish with excitement. That was a man always ready for a fight. So much so that instead of escaping immediately, he preferred to throw a tussle instead. Moonfish nodded and kept snaking his way through the halls until he found the rumored fire escape the other inmates kept speaking about back when they were all trying to search for some way out.

He was no stranger to slinking his way through the streets. He would have some time to move where he needed before the news would announce the breakout to everyone as a warning. What would’ve been an hour by foot ended up being a 2 day journey for him. As a wanted criminal and someone that generally looked sketchy by societal standards, he was left moving around the underbelly of nearby towns and smaller cities. Finding his ties back to Giran and the rest of the League would be an easier method back to you, but they were the one’s that got him into this mess in the first place so he avoided looking for them. Eventually he found you and when you saw him it was almost as if the world stopped spinning if only for a moment. There was nothing that could make your heart drop in your chest more than seeing someone sentenced to death row, standing right in front of you. Both of you dropped to your knees and held each other for quite some time.

And sure you should have called the police and let go of your ties to his love.

And yes you shouldn’t get tied up any further with him, running the risk of going to jail for harboring a wanted criminal

But you didn’t seem to care when the person you love most is back in your arms.

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRNMJH7vHL7APNobUykhK4w?view_as=subscriber

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #moonfish #bnha moonfish

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whumping-out-of-timee · 4 years ago

Text

How to have mismatched eye color in any picrew: a tutorial

*****

At the bottom I give a quick overview (but not a specific tutorial) of how you can also make various other things that are almost never available in picrews, some of these are harder than others: Other forms of Heterocromia, Inner eye ring colors, Custom scars, Custom skin tone variations (can make vitiligo, granted the picrew creator added enough skin variations), Custom hair color streaks

*****

Hate when you choose the perfect picrew, but your oc has some form of heterocromia and the picrew won’t let you show that?

Here’s a quick trick to fix it, with zero artistic talent required.

Everything we need is already in the picrew! We’re just going to use a simple layer trick to merge 2 of the same picrew

This will be user friendly for people who have no experience with digital art and will be done using a free mobile app. (Since most people don’t have computer drawing apps if they aren’t into digital art)

Needed: a picrew you like, a free digital art app (I’m going to use ibis paint X for this tutorial)

The link to the picrew I’ll be using for this. No orange eye color though, the one thing I needed lmao

Step 1:

Save two versions of the same picrew with differing eye colors in each as the only difference.

In my experience, the picrew stays built when you re-enter the link. So, just build it and save it as normal, then it will still be there and you can change the eye color before saving the second copy.

Your copies should look about like this: it’s important to keep the rest of picrew as a copy except for the eye color. The fewer differences, the easier it will be.

Step 2:

Ok, now the hardest part is over! Drawing apps can look scary if you’re not used to them, but it will be ok.

When we open IbisPaint X it will look like this:

You want to select ‘My gallery” and then hit the plus sign at the bottom left hand corner. You’ll then be given this menu:

Now this looks like a mess, butttt you’re just going to ignore it all and click import picture. You can then choose 1 of the picrew’s from your gallery. Don’t worry it doesn’t matter which you choose.

You will be prompted with this notification:

Cancel this. This will turn the work into lineart or something I’m not sure tbh. Not familiar with this app. But it will mess up our picrew. Accidentally did it? No problem! Just close the app and go back through the menu

Step 3:

So, now you have this:

We’re ready to overlap it with the other picrew we made!

I’m running out of the 10 photos per post, I’ll try to still give a visual for each step though. Hope it’s not confusing

1- First we’re going to hit the ‘layers’ symbol at the bottom right

2- here we can see the layers, this app seems to automatically make a new layer for a new picture, so don’t worry about any of this! Select the add photo button and choose your picrew with the opposite eye color of the 1st

3- Dont mess with these settings, just push the green check! We don’t want to move the picture since we’re relying on them being directly on top of each other

4- cancel the lineart thing again

5- Now we have 2 layers, each with 1 version of your picrew

6- you can just tap above this menu to close it. It should appear as though our picrew has changed eye color.

Step 4:

Now for the fun part! We’re going to erase one of the eyes on this top layer to reveal the other color underneath!

1- We’re going to switch from pen to eraser using this button in the bottom left hand corner.

2- For the best precision, we’re going to want to zoom in towards the eye that isn’t supposed to be the current color (we can zoom in by placing two fingers on the canvas and pulling them apart. Idk what this is called. Reverse piniching?) The other thing we’re going to do is make the eraser smaller by sliding the top slider to the left.

3- Now we’re ready to erase! Carefully erase over the eye and it will change color. Be careful not the erase the other eye, or it will change color as well. If you make a mistake, the undo button is towards the top of the canvas

4- all done! Just gotta save it now. Push the button in the bottom right corner

5- When the menu comes up, you want to save as a normal PNG. Now it’s in your gallery!

Step 5:

Done!

It doesn’t look edited at all! Because it’s really not, we just combined two of the same art in different colors. No one would ever guess. It still has the same dimensions and everything!

*****

Other stuff you can do with this trick:

Although some of these take a lot more careful erasing, these shouldn’t require any actual drawing. You can use these basics to experiment with this stuff as well:

- A different colored ring around the middle of the eyes: put the middle color on the bottom layer and erase around the pupil carefully in a circle with a very small eraser brush size.

- eyes that are half colored, in a line down the middle (a form of heterocromia): layer order doesn’t matter, erase half of each eye carefully, depending on which color should be where.

- a color streak through the hair: this one will require careful erasing to look good. You’ll need a picrew where the hair is entirely the color of the streak, and a picrew with the surrounding hair color. Put the color streak layer on the bottom layer. Erase the top layer in the shape of the streak you want colored. You can place it anywhere. You can do this with faded hair tips as well, but how well that turns out will depend on the color difference the creator had between similar hair colors... in other words, if dark and light brown are closer together in color value, it will look more natural when you merge them. I would recommend putting the lighter hair color layer on the bottom. When you erase, you’ll be drawing where the highlights are, functionally the same as the color streak.

- you can make uneven skin tones or vitiligo if the creator has added enough skin tone variations to the picrew: to make vitiligo you’ll make a picrew with your lightest skin tone and a picrew with your darkest skin tone. You’ll put the lightest skin tone on the bottom layer. Then you’ll erase the top layer in the pattern where skin pigment has been lost. You’ll be able to control the pattern of color loss like this, and make any pattern you want! This layer order works best for putting light patches on darker skin. If you want to darken an area you’ll put the darker layer down first and erase the top layer with lighter skin into the pattern you want. Essentially: put light down first if you want to put a light pattern on dark skin. Put dark down first if you want to put a dark pattern on light skin

-custom scars if the creator has added enough skin tone variations to the picrew: this is the same idea as skin tone variations. This time though, we need a picrew with a pink tone skin color choice, a lighter one than the character’s skin tone can also work if you want silver scars. Make a picrew with normal skin tone for the character, and a picrew with the scar color. Put the scar color picrew down first, then add the normal tone one. Now when you erase it should make scars in any pattern you want!

If you’re having trouble erasing neatly, the answer is always to zoom in on the canvas and decrease the eraser brush size! Also you can undo and redo until it looks how you want!

That’s all I can think of right now! Hope everyone has fun making those OC’s that the picrews always seem to forget. And especially anyone who’s been left out themselves!

I have on anon asks if anyone has questions/problems using this tutorial! Or any questions about how to do something similar

Feel free to add other tips to this post as well!

*****

#picrew #whump character #oc whump #oc picrew #how to edit picrews

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

They Will Certainly See More

“What do you mean Seymour isn’t here?!”

The stage manager’s eyes were wide and bulging in their sockets from her smoldering gaze. The queens couldn’t help but shy away slightly- all the crew members had an aura that nobody wanted to cross when worked up.

“She was sick,” Aragon explained.

“You couldn’t think to tell me this BEFORE the show was about to start?!” The stage manager snapped. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are any of the alts here? Tell them to throw on some makeup and do their hair, they’re going on.”

“Umm...no.”

“What?” The stage manager’s eyes snapped open to stare at Cathy.

“None of them are here.”

“WHAT?!”

The stage manager began to work herself up to a proper fit, barking and squawking at the queens and just about anyone who crossed her path like a jungle bird that just had its territory approached by a rivaling avian. She might have tore strips off the cast the entire time if it wasn’t for Anne suddenly piping up.

“Wait!! What about Joan?”

That made the stage manager shut up. She snapped her mouth shut and blinked before all eyes turned over to the nearby music director, who, up until that point, was peacefully eating a yogurt cup.

“What?” Joan said with the spoon still in her mouth.

“That’s perfect!” The stage manager exclaimed. “Joan! Go get your makeup and hair done!”

“My makeup and hair is already done?” Joan said. She was always ready an hour before the performance starts. “What’s going on?”

“You’re performing as Jane,” The stage manager said. “Aragon, Parr, go help her into costume!”

“Wait- What?!” Joan yelped, finally understanding. “I-I can’t- I-” But she was already being herded off into Jane’s dressing room.

The process of redoing her makeup and hair was hellish- there was a lot of tugging and pulling and painful brushing that scraped her scalp raw. She had to get an all new layer of makeup so she wouldn’t look washed out onstage and wouldn’t sweat it all off. Because she was sweating. A lot.

“God, you’re soaked,” Cathy laughed slightly, combing back Joan’s hair.

“Mm-hmm,” Joan merely replied. She was stiff in the chair, spine straightened in perfect posture for the first time in her life. Her hands clenched and unclenched anxiously in her lap. “G-guys, I--”

“I got the costume,” Aragon cut her off, taking Jane’s dress off the rack.

Joan actually gaped at it- were they really expecting her to wear that?!

“Guys--”

“Come on, stand up, Joan,” Aragon urged. “Let’s get this on you.”

“Guys!” Joan finally spoke up. Her voice had raised a few pitches. “I-I don’t think I can do this…”

“Of course you can!" Cathy said as she pulled her out of the chair. She and Aragon were being weirdly nice; usually they just ignored the music director unless they needed her for something. Joan guessed it was because they were in a rush and thought that being kind would get Joan to cooperate (which kinda worked).

“You know the show by heart. There's no way you can screw it all up." Aragon smiled gently as she set the costume on the back of the chair. "We'll be outside whilst you change, call us when you're ready.”

And with that, Joan was alone in the dressing room.

Standing in Jane's dressing room with the woman was one thing, but when she was alone everything felt wrong. Joan felt like she was invading Jane's personal space. She knew it was stupid, Jane wasn't here. Jane was at home, sick.

Deciding to not dwell on it any longer, Joan quickly changed into the costume. The first thing she noticed about the dress was that it was heavy, much heavier than she had imagined. The second thing she noticed was that it didn't fit her at all. Instead of looking like it was tailored to her body, it simply hung from her shoulders, and she didn’t even want to THINK about how saggy it was around her smaller chest. She was practically drowning in the fabric, and Joan wondered if she could just wear her band costume and claim it as an emergency alternate costume, but then the five minute call blasted through the speaker.

Cathy and Aragon burst through the door, stumbling over each other as they tumbled into the room.

“Come on Joan, the show is starting soon and we still need to have a mic check." Cathy said, giving Joan a quick glance. "You can't go on stage looking like that." Frantically, she and Aragon searched Jane's room for safety pins.

An announcement played over the speaker, saying the show was delayed for another ten minutes. Guilt started to consume Joan as she stood in the middle of Jane's dressing room. She must look rather pathetic, standing there in a dress too big and her face caked in makeup.

Suddenly, there’s hands cupping her cheeks and she flinches in surprise. Aragon is standing in front of her, holding her face while Cathy finished with the last of the pins. The golden queen tapped Joan’s cheek with a finger and Joan stopped trying to avoid her eyes like a dog that was caught drinking out of the toilet bowl, instead slowly meeting her patient gaze.

This was the first time Aragon had ever been affectionate or gentle with Joan. And Joan relished it.

“You’re going to be okay.” Aragon told her. Her voice was smooth and warm, coiling up Joan’s neck and slithering right into her ears. It numbs her anxiety.

“B-but what if I--”

“Shh...” Aragon stroked back a loose piece of hair that just didn’t want to stay down. She took a silver bobby-pin from her sleeve and pinned it back herself. “You’ll be just fine, darling. We know you can do this.”

“B-but I-- OW!!”

“Sorry!” Cathy called from behind Joan. “Yikes. That’s a lot of pins.” She laughed slightly. “But I’m sure it’s fine. The dress is silver, anyway! Matches the, uhh, color scheme!”

A chunk of ice drove itself into Joan’s stomach. She sets her trembling hands over her unsettled middle and Aragon quickly took them in her own. She squeezed them tightly. Oh how Joan wished she actually cared about her and wasn’t just doing this to get her to cooperate.

“I can’t,” Joan whispered.

Despite always dreaming of getting to perform and dance and sing, actually having to do it sounded horrible. Perhaps because it was forced onto her and she didn’t have a say at all. It would probably be easier if she had volunteered herself.

Maybe.

“You have to,” Aragon said. “I’m sorry. But I know you can do this.”

“Come on,” Cathy said.

The three of them walked down to the wings, where the other three queens and ladies in waiting were already in place onstage. Cathy and Aragon have to leave Joan, grabbing their mics and getting in their spots. Joan took Jane’s place a few moments after them. Right before the lights go out, she saw Maria, Bessie, Maggie, and even her dep giving her encouraging smiles and thumbs up. She shook her head nervously at them, pleading with her eyes for one of them to drop dead so she didn’t have to do this.

But alas.

Blackout.

A cacophony of anticipated murmurs swelled through the audience as the curtains part ever so slightly so the queens can walk out. They were just barely lit up by soft white lights bleeding dimly from backstage. Fog rolled out like great grey waves.

Then, pitch blackness once again.

She tripped. She knew she tripped or stumbled or something stupid while walking out of the curtains. She tripped or staggered or stepped wrong or something and now they all know she’s not Jane and they’re going to laugh at her and--

Joan couldn’t breathe. Her body was on autopilot as she followed along with the others, trying to walk the way Jane would normally walk (and yet she still messed that up with her slight stumble on her way out of the curtains). She hoped that she looked enough like the woman to fool the audience and keep them happy for at least half of the show before they got tired of seeing her as a fraud, but that was just wishful. They could take one look at her (or her chest) to know that she was not Jane Seymour.

And that scared her.

She was scared of them booing or leaving just because she wasn’t the queen. Which was entirely stupid of her to worry over because the alts and swings went on all the time and everyone loved them. But her anxiety just wouldn’t register that as true facts.

She was a fraud. And they were all going to laugh at her.

She really didn’t want to be laughed at...

A deep hum filled the auditorium- the beginning of Ex-Wives was starting. The sound seemed to rattle Joan to her very core as she listened to it. It honestly used to be serene and calming, but now it just filled her with icy cold dread. She wanted to throw up from the intense terror waving over her, but her stomach was in too tight of knots to eject anything at the moment.

“Divorced.”

A cone of purple light rained down on Aragon. There were the twin beats.

This whole part revolved a lot on timing, and Joan knew if she didn’t say her line at just the right moment, then she would throw Maria off. And she really didn’t want to embarrass her bandmates, too, so she gathered up as much confidence as she could and prepared herself.

“Beheaded.”

The purple light comes down on Anne. The twin beat resounds loudly.

This was her moment. One of her many moments, but a moment no less. She couldn’t fuck it up, not after the way she tripped.

The purple light spills its rays of amethyst over Joan and she takes a deep breath.

“D-ied.”

The twin drum beat thumps heavily. Joan swore the thunderous pulse was enough to shatter her rapidly beating heart, which just picked up even more speed.

Her voice cracked. Her fucking voice cracked.

She wondered if it was possible to swallow her microphone whole and choke on it so she wouldn’t have to do this...

“Divorced.”

A cone of light encased Anna. Joan exhaled deeply, no one seemed to notice. Maybe she could pretend to be sick, people have gone on sick before. Joan prayed that they had an alternate ready before Heart of Stone; she didn't know what she would do if she had to sing that song.

“Beheaded.”

Joan was ready to run, she didn't care about letting the audience down. But then the image of Jane popped into her head, she was frowning, like she was disappointed. Disappointed in Joan. That thought made her stay on stage, rooted in her spot.

“And tonight, London. We are…”

I can do this, She kept telling herself, hoping it would calm her down.

The pause seemed to last much longer than a few seconds. Her nerves mounted as she waiting. Joan raised the mic to her lips a bit early.

Then suddenly she saw Anne take a breath, meaning it was coming.

“Live!" Joan's voice was stronger than she thought, an excited grin adorned her face. I got it! She praised herself.

The show flew by in a whirl of flashing lights, humming harmonies, and barely-contained pride. The longer she performed, the more Joan got comfortable with the role of being the third queen. And the audience didn’t even seem to mind! They looked like they really liked her!

It was just amazing. Every inch of her body was tingling in joy, fueled by an adrenaline rush that seemed to be made of liquid gold. She hadn’t been this energetic about anything in a long time. Her limbs would ache the next day, but she didn’t care. She just continued to sing and dance and be genuinely happy.

The MegaSix soon rolled around, meaning the show would be over soon, and Joan found herself slightly sad while she danced along with the queens. She wished she could play this part forever, that she could always be in the spotlight like this. People would praise her name: Joan Meutas, the False Silver Queen. And they would love her, they would want her autograph and ask to take pictures with her and go to brag to their friends about meeting her.

It would be incredible.

Joan was so wrapped up in dancing and fantasizing her own popularity that she didn’t even realize something was wrong until a cold breeze hit her bare belly.

...Bare?

The audience gasped, yelped, shouted, laughed, whistled.

Cameras flashed.

The queens turned to her, frozen, eyes bulging out of their skull, mouths hanging open like their jaws had been unhinged.

Petrified, Joan slowly looked down at her naked body, shielded only by a bra and underwear, and the silver dress around her feet.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #anne boleyn #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #katherine howard #anna of cleves #joan on the keys #they will certainly see more

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billyhargay · 5 years ago

Text

billy survives. he doesn’t want to just return home to neil- especially not after all that had happened. since the government wants everyone to be very hush-hush about starcourt, he's going to use their need for his silence to his advantage.

he starts to barter with the officials who are breathing down his neck for answers, saying he'll tell them all that he knows and what happened with him if in turn, he gets a new identity and a place to live. he wants the public, wants his father, to believe billy hargrove is dead, so he can take on a new name and a new identity to be as far away from neil as he can be.

the officials begrudgingly agree. once billy is released from the hospital to his new apartment, he's instructed to stay in for at least a few months to a year until everything completely calms down, and frankly he's bored as shit by the third week that rolls around. he's stuck on his own without much to do, but he thoroughly enjoys having the chance to sit in the living room for once and watch some shows on TV that pique his interest, even if he ends up flipping through the channels after a few minutes. plus, having his groceries and other necessities delivered to him every two weeks or so was a neat little addition- he just wished they'd give him some cigarettes.

once a month rolls by, he gets a call. he's allowed to have visitors now, and he wants to laugh at that because who the hell would want to visit him? the person on the line says they'll be informing at least one member of his immediate family, and his bitter amusement is cut short as he blanches at their words. would they be notifying his father of his whereabouts?

the call is over before he can ask, and billy sits the next few days in tense silence, ever awaiting for neil hargrove to barge into his new home, shattering what was supposed to be his long-sought safe place. he feels scared for the first time in a while.

then, one quiet, early morning, the doorbell buzzes. billy is awoken by it, and he drags himself out of bed to throw on a shirt, barely conscious until he takes the first step out of his room, a jolt of fear waking up him.

was neil at the door?

his blood runs cold, and he almost reverts back to the same terrified child he once was when his mother left. he feels the prickly sensation crawl up his stomach to his throat, can already feel the grip on his neck from the enraged man he once resided with.

billy continues to walk, footsteps silent even on wood, and he slowly, slowly unlocks his front door.

as it turns out, max stands in front of him instead, a tall woman in a pressed pantsuit hovering right behind her. she's holding a plastic bag in her hands and seems very tense, barely looking at billy when he opens the door enough to see them better.

billy can breathe again.

"max," he says, glancing at his younger sister before looking away just as she did. "didn't expect you to come."

max doesn't respond, she looks on the verge of tears. before billy could say anything more, the girl threw her arms around him, holding back her cries as her smaller frame trembles from the effort. billy's chest tightens and he places a hand on her back, unsure of how to react to her onslaught of feelings- feelings for him of all things.

they eventually make their way into the living room, and billy is...awkward. he and max barely talked to one another even before the byers house, and while the woman standing off to the side and keeping a close watch on them both didn't help, max being an open emotional mess was the weirdest thing for him. he's seen her cry a few times, sure, usually because of something he did, but this was different. her tears weren't due to fear or anger, they were happy. he could tell it was rather new to her too. she seems to have a hard time keeping a hold of herself even as she tries to talk to him normally.

"me and my friends all chipped in," max gestures to the bag she placed on the coffee table with shaking hands. "i mean, steve did most of it because he has- well, had a job. we thought you'd be bored since you have to be in hiding for a while."

reaching into the bag, she pulls out a box, stark white, stylized letters that read "VIDEO COMPUTER SYSTEM BY ATARI". billy can't decide whether to laugh or cry.

"these things cost a fuckton," he says instead, in utter awe that his sister and her brat friends and king steve all bought him a whole gaming system. "why not just keep it for yourself?"

max played with the tape on the box, it was obviously already opened, they apparently couldn't resist playing it themselves before having to give it away. "i prefer the arcade, it's easier to focus." she says, a sudden but very familiar distant look in her eyes that sends an icy stab through billy's veins. she was alone with his bastard old man.

moving forward, he lowers his voice down so only max could hear. "has he done anything?" he asks, worry clear in his features. max shakes her head, then shrugs.

"he's a lot quieter, but..." she tries to laugh, the sound coming out painfully forced. "you know how he is when he's pissed."

"max," billy speaks slower. "if he's hurt you..."

"no, no," max shakes her head again, more firmly, earnest. "he hasn't done anything like that to me or my mom."

billy leans back, watching max closely for any tell that she wasn't giving the whole truth. she seems to be relaxed, as relaxed as she could be at least. "if anything goes down, stay with the sinclairs."

max looks up at him and stares, shocked. "what-?"

"listen, i still don't like that kid." he cuts her off. "but out of all of your weirdo friends...his family seems the most normal."

max slowly nods, a pensive expression passing over before she returns to the original topic at hand, not wanting to further expand on anything else. "there's a few games already inside the box, you'll probably think they're lame, but it's something to do."

she offers the box and billy takes it to look it over himself. he's unable to stop the smile that creeps its way onto his face, even though it feels weird and ill-fitting. "didn't know my stepsister was such a dweeb, but i should've guessed it by who you hang out with."

max scoffs. "being a dweeb is more fun than being a loser like you." she jabs back, tone too playful for it to be a serious attack, and it makes billy laugh. the air clears up just a bit, but they still fall silent, unable to look at each other directly. they both knew they had the same thing in mind, to try out the game together- but the woman standing guard cleared her throat, bringing their attention to her before they could work up the courage to ask one another.

"maxine, it's time to go." she says, tapping her watch for emphasis as she attempts a warm smile that just came out too wide and too fake. max visibly slumps as she stands and shuffles her way over to the woman, billy hastily placing the game console to the side to make his way over to the door along with them. he stiffly opens it for the both of them, watching them both trek down the hallway away from his apartment, his chest feeling loose yet empty all at once as he realizes he has no idea when or if max will be able to visit again.

then, his sister stops in her tracks, her hands tightening into fists for a moment before she forces them back into a relaxed state, whirling around to finally face billy directly.

"thanks," she blurted out. "for...not being dead."

billy was caught off guard to say the least, and he felt a heavy pang hit his heart. "uh, yeah. thanks for the atari."

max gives a pressed smile, turning away for the final time and wiping at her face before rushing to join with the impatient woman who stopped just by the corner. billy waits until they disappear to close the door, taking a beat to redo all the locks, his vision blurring on the last latch.

thanks for not being dead. billy didn't know just how much he needed to hear that until that very moment.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #max mayfield #fic #mine #blease tumblr....post this correctly kdnsfknsdf #btw everything is lowercase bc its not a Serious fic thing #just like...ramble fic ?#yeah sdkfnksd #otherwise i would be more Proper

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aelysalthea · 5 years ago

Text

The Secret Lives of Neil Josten

Chapter 5: Allison's Specific Skillset

The winter banquet was a celebration of peacock strutting and puffed chests. Allison knew it, just as every other member of her team did. Even the more oblivious freshmen were aware of the foolish posturing; it was apparent by the dragging of feet and the moaning of their requisite attendance at a stadium a flight and extended bus trip away from Palmetto State.

That didn't mean that Allison didn't revel in it, though. She would damn-well make the most of it, and she'd look fucking fabulous as she did. And, if she had any say in the matter, her team would look just as on-point.

Which was why, as their motley crew ambled one by one out of the change rooms with suit and tie or fitted dresses pervading, Allison ran a calculating eye over the lot of them. Some, like the twins, weren't worth her time, for any demand wouldn't elicit anything but a glare and a potential loss of limb on her part. The freshmen, though, were easier meat, and she'd already made short work of fixing up her own sub's mess of a hairstyle and sent another pair back to the bathroom to redo their own poor attempts.

"Nicky, what the fuck?" Allison said as Nicky emerged into the hallway in a waft of cologne and colours so bright that they were surely identifiable from a satellite. Nicky, the fucker, only grinned, and Allison rolled her eyes. Another lost cause. As she turned from him in a fit of disgust, it was to see Dan and Matt wearing twin smirks like the cheeky, judge-y power couple that they were.

"I don't want to hear it," Allison said, folding her arms stoutly.

Matt held up both hands. "Hey, I'm not saying anything."

"But I am," Dan said. Her smirk became a grin. "Good to know you're picking up the slack."

Allison scowled. "I don't have a choice. I swear, it's worse this year than last."

"Except that last year you didn't bother with correcting your perceived mistakes," Renee said, coming up behind Allison and bumping her hip with her own. Allison didn't bother with running a glance over her to be sure of her refinement; Renee had more than enough class. "You didn't have as much pride in our team as you do this year. It's nice to see."

Allison clicked her tongue, tightening the fold of her arms as she turned towards Renee. Opening her mouth to reply, she paused as she caught sight of Neil and Kevin stepping from the men's change room, locked in muted conversation. Kevin was experienced enough in bathing in the spotlight to know how to dress with a modicum of decency, but Neil?

For a moment, Allison could only frown and purse her lips. Maybe she shouldn't… except that in this case, unlike with the monsters, maybe she could.

Snapping on a heel, Allison strode towards them and, before they'd more than stopped and glanced her way, she caught Neil by the elbow and tugged him in the direction of the women's change rooms. She ignored the glance Andrew shot their way – it was usually better to simply not engage – and didn't slow for Neil's startled query.

"What's wrong?" he asked, shaking himself loose as Allison stalked towards the mirrors. "Allison, what -?"

"We're making a change this year, Neil," she said, scooting around him to shoo him further into the empty room. Perfume hung in the air in a cloying cloud of jumbled fragrances that wasn't entirely unpleasant, but Neil nonetheless scrunched his nose as she nudged him through it. "That change starts with you."

"What about me?" Neil asked, eyeing her warily over his shoulder.

Standing behind him, peering at their reflection in the mirror above the sinks, Allison planted her hands on his shoulders. She studied his visage for a moment, flicked a quick glance down the more than sufficient suit he wore, then returned to studying his face. As was typical of him, as had been typical for a long time, Neil rarely gave himself the benefit of looking at his own reflection. A shame, really; despite his reluctance to engage in any kind of hairstyling or painted touch-ups, and despite the scars that were only just beginning to fade on his cheeks, he was a damn good looking kid.

"You're not making the most of what you've got," Allison said, digging her fingers briefly into his shoulders. "It's embarrassing to be seen with someone so negligent of their own appearance."

"You don't have to be seen with me," Neil pointed out. "You can sit at the other end of the table or something."

"I'd still be guilty by association. When you don't take care of your appearance for the sake of appearances, it reflects on the team, Neil. I'm not having that. Not anymore."

Neil frowned, and Allison could see in his eyes that he wasn't moved. "You're overthinking things. People don't care about that kind of thing."

Allison shook her head. "See, that's where you're wrong. You don't care because you've never cared what you look like. Or, more specifically, you've never cared if people aren't wowed by you. Right?"

It wasn't quite accurate, but Allison didn't say what both of them already knew – that Neil hadn't the time, energy, or care to play to the whims of fast-fashion and social posturing that every other child and teenager had engaged in or at least been aware of since the first day they stepped onto school grounds. Allison didn't pity Neil, wouldn't do him such a disservice, but she'd been lenient. Until now.

"You can care to care a little more now," she said, raising her hands to his head and plucking a strand of his hair in silent request. It was a little wiry, the ends still a deadened by the distinctive texture of hair dye. "Consider it a part of your job description now."

Neil's face twisted. It was a complicated expression that Allison couldn't quite read and was only emphasised by the way he tipped his head out of her reach, letting the long curl of his bangs fall across his face. "I play exy. That's the job description."

"You really are an idiot if you actually think that," Allison muttered, reaching for him again. "Hold still for a second. Come on, let me work my magic. I'll only work with the foundations you've got. I'm not changing anything about you innately. We don't have time for that."

"Allison," Neil began.

"Neil." Allison arched an eyebrow and Neil's lips thinned. He was unimpressed personified, but Allison didn't care. Or at least she didn't care enough to stop her efforts. "Look, I'll cut you a deal. Let me fix you up and if you really don't like what I do you can rearrange it back into the mess you usually have. Fair?" When no reply met her words, she rolled her eyes. "If you're going to be a public figure you may as well get used to people prodding you. Consider it me helping to ease you into it."

Neil's expression didn't shift at her words. The tightness that had settled in his shoulders remained too. And yet, in spite of that, he didn't retreat further and didn't openly protest, so Allison took it for a win. She quickly got to work.

It didn't take long. Neil really did have a good foundation to work off, and if Allison had more time and products at her disposal than a comb and minimal make-up, she knew she could really make something of him. Certainly something worthy of a professional athlete in the throes of glamour. She hadn't wasn't the time or the resources though, so she plucked through Neil's hair, flicked and tucked it, tweaking the strands of hair until they sat just right.

"You should put product in this," Allison murmured, more to herself than to Neil. "You've probably destroyed it with all the colour that's been put through it. You should go to a hairdresser or something."

"I cut it myself," Neil said quietly.

Allison paused. "What? Really?"

"Is that so hard to imagine?"

"I guess not." Slowly, she began picking up her work once more. Maybe it wasn't so unexpected that Neil would cut his own hair – Renee had been doing her own too for years – but she somehow hadn't seen it coming. "Have you ever fucked it up before?"

Neil made a neutral sound. "It's good enough to pass."

"Good enough to pass. Good enough isn't really good enough though, you know."

Allison trailed off as she fiddled, and Neil didn't reply. Allison didn't expect him to. What more was there to say? She knew she and Neil held vastly different opinions about public image, even if she was realistic enough to acknowledge that they were both gifted with exceptional basics. It didn't dampen her flicker of frustration, however. It was almost as though no one had ever prevailed upon Neil the benefits of aesthetic attraction, or the satisfaction and confidence it could instil in a person. Most likely they hadn't.

Muttering to herself, Allison continued her work. It was hard to stop but after a minute or two she was lowering her hands and taking a step back, admiring her handiwork with a tilt of her head. Allison couldn't help but smile as she gestured to the mirror for Neil to behold himself. The hair, a touch of colour added to his face, a minor adjustment to the set of his suit and a flick of his shoulders to nudge him into a slightly different posture – it was the little things that could make the biggest difference.

"See?" she said as Neil reluctantly turned to his reflection. "Better, right?"

Unimpressed still remained forefront. Allison could see it, and she could see that it wasn't going to waver. Even so, it was with only a hint of disappointment that she watched Neil take a step closer to the mirror, take a hand to his hair, and pause for only a moment to glance at her as though asking permission. When Allison sighed and rolled her eyes, he immediately set about redressing himself. That disappointment faded a little as she watched with more than a little fascination as Neil work his own magic.

Time. She's always considered it to be a product of time, necessity, and lack of care that had Neil dressed in rags and faded colours, his hair outgrown and posture tipped in just such a way as to make him seem slightly smaller, slightly reserved, just a little less inviting to the average passer-by. It made sense with his history; without the care and money, even she would be hard pressed to maintain optimal presentation.

As she watched, however, Allison realised she had been wrong. Was still a little bit wrong even, though understanding slowly dawned. Neil didn't not care – he simply cared enough to channel his efforts in the opposite direction.

Every lock of hair created an effect, hid a feature or distracted from his face. Chin tipped down, eyes lowered and diverted with it, and shoulders slightly raised added to the impression. Even how he adjusted his tie just so, the settled weight of his jacket slightly too, bespoke deliberate manipulation that could have been a careless oversight.

But it was practiced. It was specific. Allison watched Neil fix himself into his version of 'comfortable and practical' that so vastly contrasted to her own and yet had served its purpose in just the same way: it was what Neil had and perhaps even still did need. It was what grounded him and gave him confidence just as a pair of killer shoes and skin-tight dress bolstered Allison's own.

It might have been strange to consider Neil actively trying to slide beneath the radar to the point that he would adjust his appearance for it, especially understanding him as Allison did. He was nothing if not blunt, vicious on the court, and uncaring of what others truly thought of him enough to all but spit in their faces. And yet somehow it just… wasn't. Even if he shed his reserved persona entirely when on the court, or with the rest of the Foxes, or even in the offhanded interview that Wymack allowed him, it wasn't really all that unexpected at all. If anything it somehow fit, and Allison abruptly lost any desire to attempt to readjust what she'd similarly adjusted in her other teammates that night already.

When Neil glanced back at her, challenge in his eyes as though he expected her to descend upon him once more, Allison pursed her lips. She studied him in silence for a moment before clicking her tongue. "Alright, you're good. I'll give you that."

Neil frowned. "What?"

With a roll of her eyes, Allison shook her head and turned from the change rooms. "The most stupid part is that I almost don't know if you do it deliberately," she said, and stalked from the room. As she did, however, she couldn't help but shoot a glance over her shoulder towards Neil and consider him in a faintly different light.

In the year and a half since she'd first met him, Allison's opinion of Neil had changed drastically. Maybe she shouldn't be surprised that it was still changing.

***

"What did Allison want?" Kevin said as Neil fell into step alongside him.

Neil only shrugged. Really, after all of her fussing, he still didn't quite know himself. "Nothing."

"Then what took so long?" Kevin cast a glance over the heads of their teammates as they descended the hallway towards the court, peering into the stadium that already thrummed with noise. "We're practically the last team to arrive."

"Calm down, Kevin, before you pop a hernia," Nicky said, all but bouncing in step as he hastened past them. He winked at Neil as he did so. "Besides, they weren't even the last ones out of the change rooms. Coach took longer. Fucking unbelievable, I'll tell you."

"Quite your nattering up the back there," Wymack shot over his shoulder with a pointed glare in Nicky's direction. Nicky only grinned and Wymack's grunt disregarded further attempts at quelling him. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you lot. Keep it clean tonight."

"Hey, we've got no beef with anyone here anymore," Dan said, striding alongside Wymack. "No more than every other team has with each other. There won't be a fuss this year, Coach. I'll make sure of it."

Wymack grunted again. "I can't say I'm particularly reassured," he said, but didn't expand further.

Neil's attention was drawn back to Kevin as a hand swiped before his face, catching his bangs and flipping them aside. "You need to do something about this," Kevin said. "Get it cut. It's not presentable."

Neil scowled. First Allison and now Kevin? Why did they feel the need to kick up their own personal fuss that evening? It wasn't like he had anything to prove; everyone already knew what he looked like and dressing up was… uncomfortable.

"I like it how it is," Neil muttered.

"It looks sloppy," Kevin said.

"So?"

"So, it's not professional."

"What does a hairstyle have to do with professionalism? It has absolutely no bearing on how I play on the court."

"You're not just a player on a court now," Kevin said as they stepped out onto the exy court itself, the sounds and wash of colours and people flooding over them. "Your game doesn't stop with the buzzer."

Allison had said much the same thing minutes before, but for some reason she'd backed off. Kevin, Neil suspected, wasn't quite so inclined. He was a dog with a bone when it came to Neil's game. Neil just hadn't anticipated it to spill off the court quite so much.

"When the length of a players hair or what he wears when it's not a uniform starts to matter more than how they actually play," he said flatly, "then I'll know that exy's been well and truly corrupted. Pardon me for not pandering to the changeable whims of a camera, the media, and the fashion industry that I couldn't give a fuck about."

Kevin's scowl was fully formed in an instant, and he wasn't the only one to turn towards Neil. Matt grinned over his shoulder, and a couple of the freshmen shot him curious glances. Neil spared Matt a nod but mostly had attention for Andrew pacing at his side as they split to head to their table. Andrew, who was regarding him sidelong with an unblinking stare.

"What?" he asked.

Andrew didn't reply, only strode past him to plant himself in his chosen seat at the table. Even so, Neil wasn't quite sure why but for all of Kevin's huffing and Allison's fiddling, he didn't think he was alone in his opinion. Certainly so, given that Andrew bore an expression that wasn't quite a smile, wasn't quite a break in his expression, but was as close as it ever really came.

Neil didn't need to prove himself to anyone, and certainly not with fancy hair and fancier clothes. And yet it somehow felt just a little nice to have someone on his team. Just a little.

#aftg #the foxhole court #fanfiction #neil josten #allison reynolds #fox drama #headcanons #the secret lives of neil josten #post-canon #neil being neil #which is awesome

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xexilia · 5 years ago

Note

I notice when you do your comics, it applies a certain level of toner. I ended up deciding on the route of using paint brush india ink, and charcoal for toner instead. Does this aesthetic difference change the marketability of graphic novel, compared to just using toner? In the context of the prologue in this web comic, it is used to denote a fog atmosphere. In the upcoming chapter, I might use it for graveyard fog.

I think first I need to establish that what you mean by “toner” is “shading”?

I do use tones, but tonER is the stuff used in and by physical printers. Print tones refer to the dots, lines, etc. that are present in the majority of my work and that Roy Lichtenstein emulated in his paintings. Tones are dots because that’s how printers print; Thousands of dots. The closer together, the more solid the shade or color is. I’m not trying to correct you on terms, but knowing this difference will help you later because I promise, if you buy toner online and expect to get tones, you’ll be disappointed by what arrives in the mail!

So, I think you’re falling into a common trap webcomic artists make in the beginning, which is focusing on the wrong parts of the project. You asked me if this changes marketability; But you didn’t tell me:

What medium do you want to publish in? Do you want to ONLY have your comics online, or do you want to print them?

Who is your target audience and age group?

Do you want to sell or profit off your webcomic?

The first question is important because far too often, webcomic artists design for the web/screens first, foremost, and only; Later, they decide to print a book, and this is when all hell breaks loose. Lots of media (Charcole, watercolors, etc.—media is the art term for materials) can look both better OR WORSE on a screen—this is where technology comes into play, like the scanner you have, the DPI (dots per inch) its able to scan things in at, and the size of scannable area. A lot of my favorite media and mediums (I like pencil on paper), are really delicate drawings—and like a lot of artists who favor these materials, scanners just never seem to do them justice. Lots of fine artists I talk to admit that they feel their work looks best in person, and no matter how high the quality scanner, small, delicate details get lost. Part of it can be a cheap scanner, the wrong DPI setting, but the other part can be the wrong medium (That’s the term for things like canvas or paper), or the wrong SIZE medium.

Size matters; Both in terms of the scanner surface area AND the size of your medium. A lot of people (And I did this myself for a lot of the first book), work on standard size paper—8.5 by 11 inches; But professional artists, print or not, are always better off to work at a LARGER size than the end result will be. When I printed my book, I didn’t come out too terribly for the size I worked in, because manga book page sizes are smaller than their American counter parts. I also knew I planned to print from the first page onward, so everything was designed for print first and web second—this is much easier and less time consuming to do than the reverse, because a lot of print errors can occur that don’t appear on screens—and literally can’t—and can take hours, days, weeks or more to fix, depending on how bad and common the issue is and how many of your pages have this problem. A big one is called moire, which DOES NOT show up on screens; This happens when an artist applies on tone directly over another. Because most of us work digitally these days, it’s even easier for artists to start doing this and not realize the consequence until you print a book. . .and discover all places where tones overlap create this weird square pattern within them—which is called moire. This is why it’s critical to use separate tones for different shades and such, because unlike solid color printing, you cannot overlay tones like you would layers in Photoshop or other such programs. Ignore this at your peril!

My first suggestion before you go to far is; Of you want to ever, EVER print this, print out a copy of a page at home. Even if you’re happy with it, consider how you may be printing or mass producing these things; If you’re going to make them via a copier at Kinko’s, take a page down to a copier at Kinko’s and see what quality you get. If you don’t like it at full size to the ratio you worked in (In other words, printing on the same size paper you created it on), you can get some improvement by using smaller pages—but going UP in page size will cause quality to drop. I now work on paper—digital or not—that’s always 11 by 17 inches AT LEAST. For anything I make, I try to work in a size 3 to 4 times larger than the end result will be.

When I first began, I made my comics with a copier at Kinko’s, and discovered while my ink wash method looked good, it looked better with color printing; Color printing is ALWAYS more expensive, hence why when digital comic creation tools (Like Clip Studio) got invented, I was an instant convert! It saved a lot of time and money (Tones and such are all expensive), the environment (No trees died for my drawings), effort (Tones are REALLY tricky to work with by hand), and it’s no wonder that manga artists now are nearly ALL working digitally.

Also, for the disabled (Like me), digital allows us to work from beds, at home, etc. instead of in front of a desk, all hunched over. I don’t accidentally smudge ink, my cat doesn’t drink my ink (Yes, it’s a thing cats do!), and if I mess up, the power of Undo/Redo/Copy/Paste/Transform CANNOT be understated. I’ve mentioned it before, but I believe in working smarter, NOT harder. This is why I draw out a lot of backgrounds (Which you can’t see on the free copies online, but you can if you buy a physical copy or the Amazon eBook), separately, and I can just drag and drop them around as I need. That way, I can focus on drawing the characters and not on drawing a giant cathedral for every damn appearance it makes or scene change I do.

As for marketability; A lot of this depends on your target audience and age group. Even so, people tend to grow to like something even if it may be atypical of the general stuff they like. I’m generally not a fan of shoujo-ai—but many of my favorite anime and manga ARE in this genre! Turns out, if the story is good, I don’t care about the sexuality of the characters!

A lot of people expect or want color comics these days though, which is odd to me, since the manga produced in Japan is in black and white (Color printing is expensive—even for a major publishing company!) People still read it, and those who expect an artist to make a free webcomic with color pages and update several times a week or month aren’t aware of the time, effort, or consequences. Generally; No, they will NOT buy a book they’ve read for free online (As much as people love to say to support us creators, they rarely actually do), and they damn sure won’t pay for the extra cost of color printing. If you want to see the difference, check out Ka-Blam comic printers and do a price comparison between printing pages in color versus black and white.

Yes, there are people who do a Kickstarter and such and get these funds up front; They are exceptions, not the rules. Consider them—and most artists who make comics or art they make of their own choosing (Not commissions, but only originals), the same as you might someone who plays a sport and decides that they are GOING to play professionally for some orginazation or team—which is, they are counting on being in this LESS THAN 1% of their field. Yes, some people pull it off; The vast majority don’t—and skill isn’t the biggest factor in the end. Just like an athlete with all the promise in the world can have their career ended before it’s begun by an injury that never heals right, art itself is a career path with MANY hidden pitfalls and problems—and health is a major one. Too many of us don’t eat right, don’t exercise our bodies and minds, and so on; It adds up. I personally really recommend a diet with a caloric/carb intake ratio that works within your activity levels; In other words, if you’re determined not to work out (Which—don’t make this mistake), you can’t eat as much as you’d like—not only will you gain weight, but it impacts your health health, your blood sugar—it can be a recipe for an early, but preventable, grave or a LOT of suffering that could be avoided. I try to jog at least two miles a day, meditate daily, and really put my health as the main focus in my life—even before my art. I can’t draw anything or write more stories if I’m dead, after all, and I can’t produce my best work if I’m not in the best condition I can manage. With an autoimmune disease, there’s only so much I can do or control and I’m often still very sick and in a lot of pain; But I still do all I can to run or walk two miles—at least, and even if it takes me an hour or more—and to keep my heart rate at 120 beats per min. when I do. There’s a lot of days where this is about the ONLY thing I can manage and where my pain is so bad I cry and cry—because right now I don’t have a lot of means of relief; This doesn’t happen to everyone, but it means that health—no matter what you do in life—can make or break you at times. Audiences aren’t always understanding of these circumstances and yes, ones career can dry up as a result. Just because someone manages to play for the sports team of their dreams doesn’t mean their health can’t or won’t turn on them, or a serious injury will end their career; We do not live in a world where people will continue to support you because of a series of or singular unfortunate event.

This brings me to the last point, which is if you plan to sell or profit off your work; We all want to, but often making sales can come at the cost of producing something that we, as the creators, really love or are passionate about. I decided from the jump that, while profiting was nice, I’d much rather make the title I wanted to make rather than the one that sells the most copies; If I were concerned with it, trust me, Eternity Concepts would be a wildly different story, with different art, etc. I’d have written a formulaic story that was entirely predictable and changed so many aspects, you’d never recognize it; Manga fans tend to be teens, so I’d have made the cast all teenagers! It’d be set in school! Someone might magically transform to fight evil or some such thing.

I didn’t want that; If you do, there’s no shame in that, but audiences will keep buying and reading what we keep producing, and if we’re too afraid to take a risk on a chance that our story won’t make a dime—because making a dime is the most important part for you—then we can’t be surprised when it’s what people keep buying—because we aren’t even attempting to sell anything else.

Publishing houses (With novels and such) can be really guilty of pushing for changes based on market research; The thing is, the research is often based off past sales of what’s already in the market. Plenty of novels that became classics and best sellers got rejected for years and years until a publishing company was willing to take a chance and discovered that people can, will, and do enjoy new and different things. They might also do market focus group testing—but these are small sample sizes of average people—and your audience may NOT be average people.

All creative pursuits involve risks, at the end of the day; You just have to decide what rewards you want or are willing to sacrifice if you take them.

As for aesthetics, there’s no accounting for taste and I’ve seen plenty of paintings I hated sell for insane amounts of money, plenty of art styles I hated become popular titles, etc.

I will say this; When I, PERSONALLY, see a comic with tones or color, usually that’s digitally produced (It cuts out the need for a scanner!), it looks to me like it’s professionally made—by someone who is on their way or already at such a level.

While a lot of newer artists try to make do with other materials, again, the world is not a kind place and making do is just that—making do. Yes, there are a million and one reasons why one can’t get their hands on better or more professional materials—but sadly, people don’t want to hear excuses, and many successful artists got their tools by working jobs they hated, saving up, living in their cars—making major sacrifices to get to where they are now. There’s no easy road or shortcuts to the end; Yes, I do, sadly, think the mixed media approach you’re trying won’t be favorable towards your marketability—but I could always be wrong (Look at how many MS Paint comics made it big!) There’s a first time for everything.

Comics, though, is also about production speed, and traditional materials can come at the cost of working quicker. I’m a big fan of suggesting people save and wait and invest (And it IS an investment) in serious materials and tools if they wish to be seen and taken as seriously; This means making sacrifices and at the end of the day, plenty of people still won’t like what you make, no matter what tools you have or plot you employ. The person who NEEDS to like it most? . . .Is only you.

You cannot please all of the people all of the time, and the faster you accept that, the happier you’ll be with what you make.

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maxladcomics · 6 years ago

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If you have time to, could you explain how you go about planning/making your comics? Other than drawing them, I mean. Like, how do you plan out what happens in a page, how do you go about scripting it, that kinda thing.

WELL- (This is gonna be a long post, so block the tag #longpost or #Maxramble if it’s too much!)

I unfortunately keep most stuff in my head- but I’ll explain some small things that might help out!

I keep the base of every character set down, so I understand how that character behaves, and when I already know their backstory and how they react/behave to other characters, it makes their actions easier to put in a scene rather than plan out properly. Instead of asking myself “Hmmm how would they react to this-” I can trace back to those details I already know, and help myself realize how they would respond.

For instance- the comic I have in the works right now is much easier than the other ones I’m not working on >3>.. because it has Fell and Fell Undyne, who I’ve drawn a lot and grown attached to and they’ve got a lot of history with each other and they interact in fun ways. I haven’t done that much of Swapfell Papyrus, and Underfell Alphys. While I definitely relate to these two- it’s REALLY hard to figure out their ‘base’, especially since Alphys’s Past comic starts with how hers will be built, and show what she grows into and why- IT’S SO COMPLICATED AND I NEED TO LOWER MY STANDARDS SO I CAN JUST DRAW IT AND GET IT OVER WITH.

Anyway, that was a bunch of rambling.

So yeah, first: Character basics. Then I move onto the plot.

I have a vague setup for the comic I work with, and while I wish I could put more details in, it seems like this is how I like to work and there just isn’t any way to fix it lol.

Also before these spoilers are notes of what the babybones behaviors are like- they’ll help me understand how the babies act and get an idea of how Fell can respond to them throughout the comic. This is normally what I have noted down when I bring any new character into a comic, so I can understand how they’ll act first, and how my characters can respond/behave around them.

These notes I’m showing, will be the first scene I’m working towards, so from point A (the start of the comic), and the goal is point B, here: (spoilers ahead! But vague spoilers, it doesn’t even spoil the first page)

(Thank you Anon Paps for the ideas!)I mean there’s not much, so I need preferably a point C which is here:

and other than that, the rest is in my head, but I can summarize it fairly simply. With Undyne’s help Fell decides to take care of the babybones (UT Paps asks him earlier in the comic to take care of them but the kids make everything difficult for him so he needed to talk to someone), suddenly ghost, things get a bit easier and something happens with Levee to make him a lot more tolerable.

There was an idea of Fell protecting the kids after something, but I can’t remember it, I might bring that in if I figure it out lol. But yeah the comic will mostly be meant for cute/funny stuff and to encourage myself to draw more, which is how I’ll plot out the inbetween’s for each point. I also have a vague ending planned but that’s a secret :D…. and not noted down *quickly scribbles it down*

ANYWAY TO THE SCRIPT.

So while Paint Tool SAI version 2 has a text feature- I usually write out my scripts on Open Office Writer (Basically microsoft word, but free) and try to keep it to AT MOST, one A4 page. This depends on what’s happening in the page and how much talking is going on. In the past I’ve had to cut pages into two because there’s too much text.

Script for page 2: (Might not be full script, there’s more to this but it might not fit on one page AND I KEEP FORGETTING A BIT OF IT)

(Out of context script is hilarious omg)

Obviously not shown: There’s a panel break (Silent panel) between a point in this script so far. After Fell says he’s going to call someone else, it’ll show Undyne looking extra confused, then Fell calling another number.

So with my script I have a basic idea of what’s going to happen (or in the case of funny comics, usually a punchline to work up to) and build the page in my head as I script. If it doesn’t work then I do have to redo the script or even cut out scenes I like because they wont work. It happened a lot in the Drinking comic.

I guess the easiest way I can explain it is, the Point A, B, C and finale are the important points that HAVE to happen, and I consider every scene between that a mini point I can reach, but I don’t have to and it’s ok to cut them as long as they don’t mess with the main points. (…Although they can. All the shenanigans between Short Fell and Fell changed a lot of the other plot points I had, honestly most plot points are changeable, but I usually pretend they’re fixed so I have an idea of where I need to go. WHAT REALLY MATTERS IS THE START AND FINALE OK-)

It makes it much easier since Papyruses and Undyne’s are so.. enthusiastic, that they’ll usually do something without needing a prompt. I love characters like these.

Anyway, onto the drawing of the page: I don’t have any extensively rough scribbles to show, but I usually try to consider who’s in the scene (and if I have to, turn the perspective a certain way so I don’t have to keep drawing 3-4 characters every panel) and how they respond to whatever they’re given. If they’re in a relaxed scenario (like the Drink comic) then how do they respond? Which characters do they naturally gravitate to?

I usually plan this stuff during scripting of course but anyway-

I’ve been drawing larger panels lately (Inspired by UnderlineAU) and usually draw smaller ones when the scene calls for it, like a silent reaction, or something happening in the background. As usual- I think that showing the character from the waist up is a good place to start so you can show body language and how they react without saying anything. Do they close off when someone comes near them but try to act friendly- or are they genuinely friendly? ALL FUN STUFF TO FIGURE OUT.

Anyway, I try not to end the pages on something that’s too..??? That feels too much like an ending, I want people to continue reading, or know that there’s another page. Obviously I don’t cut a joke short and end it on the next page, but what I mean is.. with, say if all the characters said goodbye to each other at the end of one page and it seemed like an ending, then suddenly they’re talking again in the next page- it’d be weird xD.

I think I did something similar to that in the babybones comic? I vaguely recall them saying goodbye, and then having one or two panels to have them talking about the next place, so readers knew there was more. So that’s the kind of thing I mean

…..WOW THAT WAS A LOT.

I’m not sure if I have any more to say lol, but I hope this helps??

#maxask #long post #maxramble #wolfgirl55stuff #longpost

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autistickitten · 6 years ago

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(urgent/before Friday if possible) Sorry this is kinda nsfw/not strictly related but I'm 18, a trans guy, and in my first relationship. My bf knows I'm trans and that I have social communication issues and sensory issues. He's been great. We're planning to have sex, and I sort of don't know the protocol/what in doing? We've talked about it and stuff but even so. I feel very much I do not know anything really. Thanks

I’m gonna put this under a cut in hopes the Tumblrbots don’t come in and pixelate the blog for being Too En Es Eff Double-ewe :P I’m also gonna get super personal and uhhh descriptive in here so this is also a way for folks who’re squicked out by sex talk to avoid it.

So it’s good that you’ve talked about it a bit already! The most important thing I think is to keep talking about it the whole way through.

When I first had sex with my ex, we talked about it a bit beforehand, specifically (and since you mention you’re a trans guy this is super apt) where I was and was not comfortable being penetrated. (And also since you mentioned that you’re trans but not that he is I’m gonna assume he has a penis but if not and you’re using toys or strap-ons or whatever feel free to ignore my aggressive insistence on condoms! Although if you plan on switching between orifices or sharing toys then still use condoms on them, makes clean-up a breeze to boot!) Make sure you both know where the other stands on things like PIV, anal, oral, and also make sure you’re both comfortable with the idea of changing your mind. It’s always okay to change your mind after you’ve started!

Oh and before I forget: CONDOMS AND LUBE (water-based ONLY, silicone-based lube destroys latex condoms EDIT: Silicone-based destroyed silicone toys, OIL-based destroys condoms (shoutout to @hylianderp, ‘twas I who derped out there). Water-based is still the all-around safest but do note it has to be re-applied more frequently as it absorbs into the skin faster!). We didn’t use condoms, and even through we didn’t do PIV it still could have ended very badly. Semen loves to wander. Make sure you have both and that they’re used properly - condoms always get changed between orifices and between ejaculations. And don’t go stingy on the lube, especially if you’re doing anal. Applying lube is a bit like gathering firewood: Decide how much you think you need, and then double that amount. Re-apply it halfway through if things start to hurt. There’s no such thing as too much.

Also, I suggest you lay down a towel or something, and keep washcloths or tissues handy. Messes happen! And also, for that matter, funny sounds happen, and clumsiness happens. Sex can make you laugh and that’s a good thing.

Now, some people say your first time’s “supposed” to hurt, some people say it’s “never” supposed to hurt, I say there’s a middle ground. See, the first time I had sex with my ex was The First Time I Had Sex, and even though I’d masturbated with toys before, and even though we spent, gods, a solid 15, 20 minutes on foreplay with a lot of, ehh, finger action, fact of the matter is he was pretty well-endowed and yeah, when he put it in me, it hurt! The important thing, I think, is I made sure he knew it hurt, he took it out, we spent some more time with fingers, we added more lube, and the next time he put it in it didn’t hurt. Success! It’s a balancing act your first time, there’s no way to know for sure if it’ll hurt beforehand, but the important thing is that, if it hurts, you stop, redo some steps, and try again in 5 minutes.

If you know you may well have issues communicating verbally, make sure your partner knows he’ll have to be extra attentive. At one point my ex moved me into a position that really hurt but I couldn’t make myself speak so I just sort of.. made some urgent squeaking sounds? Which was enough to make him stop and ask if I was okay, and without that sensory bombardment I was able to answer and we found a different position that felt good.

And that’s the main thing, it should feel good, for both of you! You should both check in on the other regularly, but especially whoever’s in control (which isn’t necessarily the person penetrating depending on position). If it hurts at any point, for either of you, slam on the breaks, back up, figure out where it went wrong, and turn left at Albuquerque.

I also asked a pal who’s a Certified Top if he had any tips on communication, and here’s some very good advice he had to say on the matter:

I mean good communication is good communication. I can only speak for myself but I want to know what feels good for my partner, not just in terms of a “that’s good, that’s not good” but like “that’s good but what could make it BETTER is…”

I think there’s a weird idea a lot of people have that basically if you’re not topping you’re just supposed to… be somehow less involved. That it’s centered around whoever is topping and that’s just untrue and unhealthy.

And you should have fun! If you’re not having fun, there’s no point in doing it. The first few times it’s all about figuring what you like, what’s the most fun for you and for them, what you don’t find particularly fun. I learned that day that I don’t find it fun at all to give blowjobs, and so I did not finish giving that one. You’re very much allowed to not finish what you’ve started.

And finally, two very important points:

You may not orgasm your first time, or even your first few times. That’s fine, it’s normal, you’re still learning about yourself and about each other! It’s very lovely to have one, but it’s not the be-all end-all. The journey should be just as rewarding as the finish.

However, if he comes, you come. End of. If he gets to have that moment he damn well better make sure you get to. The clitoris isn’t an enigma, it has a little 1-2cm shaft and a cute little mushroom head and even gets erect just like a penis and it deserved to be stroked too, gods damn it!

Actually, speaking of that lil mushroom buddy, I have one more tip, as weird as it might sound: Grab a handheld mirror, tuck away in a bathroom, and get a good look at your clitoris. It’s not widely talked about, because sex educators want them to be an enigma, but for such a small thing clitores have quite some variety, and it could play a big role in how much you enjoy that sex you’re about to have. Larger clitores are, unsurprisingly, usually easier to work with, as are ones with smaller hoods (more direct stimulation after all). Get a little self-love sesh in and pay close attention to what motions feel good, what don’t feel like much at all, how that changes as you get more aroused and your clitoris gets engorged, and get ready to relay all that info to your partner.

So that’s pretty much the advice I could think of over the course of a couple hours! Just remember: have fun, communicate in whatever ways you can (but make sure to do it consistently), and if you need to stop for any reason you should always be free to do so. This goes for every time, not just the first time.

-Brother Cat

ETA: Some further good advice in the replies!

@cesium-sheep:

personally I find it useful to have at least one of my hands on my partner, since it gives him that many more signals to pick up on and it helps give me a grounding point. just a little additional thing that may help.

@rattycastle:

If you get like me and go semi or non-verbal with a lot of sensory stuff, good or bad, tell him beforehand. A safe word is good even for vanilla stuff, like letting him know you're ok even if you cant talk

These two tips go hand-in-hand very well! A safe word doesn’t necessarily have to be an Actual Word, it can be a specific gesture, a rhythm tapped on a wall or headboard, a “Squeeze my fingers once for go, twice for stop” sort of thing, anything you can come up with and remember in the moment.

Keep an eye on the notes, I’m sure there’ll be a few more good tips!

#sex ed #do we have a sex ed tag?#I know we've talked about some genital stuff before but I think it was more hygiene-related...#Anonymous #ask

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mythlived · 6 years ago

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Even numbers for Rhys!

❛ You gotta dig a little deeper !

2. Do they have any daily rituals ?

Rhys has a couple of daily rituals like getting up at five every morning, regardless of how late he’s been up ( unless he’s been at an MBM sleepover, in which case he sleeps until he’s inevitably woken up by Purrseus or someone moving around ), putting on some kind of background noise whether it be music or the television, sitting long enough to drink a cup of tea and watch the sun come up, watering his plants, and greeting his elderly neighbors ( and the lady across the street ), because they’re all up by the time he usually leaves his apartment. He also has a couple of weekly rituals ! One of which is going to the farmer’s market every Saturday, stopping by the bakery across the street from his apartment building, and picking up a new book. The latter two are done on different days each week.

4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy ?

He doesn’t see any reason that his kitchen would be busy unless Pyrrha was over for some reason, but if it was, it’s probably busy for a reason and he isn’t going to mess with the peace of it all. Whoever is using his kitchen can continue using his kitchen and if they aren’t making dinner, he supposes he’ll just order takeout or go grab something while they’re at it. He has all the healthy options in town memorized, anyway.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu.

Rhys’ eating habits actually aren’t all that bad ! In fact, he does his best to eat fairly healthy meals unless he’s out with friends, in which case he just goes with whatever they’ve chosen to eat. He’s particularly health conscious, mostly because he had to be while under Arsenal’s thumb and the habit stuck, but also because he finds that keeping track of calories, protein, carbs, etc. really is a good way to keep his mind occupied when he isn’t doing anything else. His metabolism is high, given his enhanced genetics, so he has to eat a little more than someone else might, so it’s strangely relaxing to him to have to redo all the math for nutrition labels even if he doesn’t necessarily have to. But his weekly trips to the local farmer’s market are also because of his health-consciousness. He likes to know what it is he’s putting into his body and that it’s all locally grown helps him feel better about it, at least. Plus, he likes to feel like he’s helping the local farmers, because not only has he found getting his produce there is cheaper and easier to buy in bulk for a week, but all of the people he buys from are also really nice and remember his name. As far as a sample daily menu goes, he really does just try to keep it as healthy as possible without being bland. Which, is something he’s gotten very good at. But that’s not to say everything he eats is healthy. Just that’s what he sticks to mostly out of familiarity and comfort.

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging.

Rhys’ favorite indulgence is literally anything that the MBM makes, but especially Nona. It comes from Nona being one of the first people that he really considered a friend and their baking sessions that, once-upon-a-time coincided with Aris’ and Pat’s study sessions. It was not long after Tzan inspired him to pull away from the organization that she introduced him to Nona, who also taught him to bake ( because while he could cook, baking was absolutely not in his repertoire ) and so he associates pretty much anything Nona makes with that general time period and the contentment that came with it. Not only that, though, but everything she makes is good, so turning it down is near impossible. For all intents and purposes, it’s comfort food to him !

Another of his favorite indulgences, though, is tea. While he drinks it all the time, he does consider it an indulgence when he buys something more expensive or flavored differently than what he normally gets. His typical teas include English Breakfast, Earl Grey, and Lady Grey, fairly mundane. But he really likes floral and herbal teas and various greens, so he usually has at least one of each in his pantry and those are the ones that he might splurge on a little when he has the money to do so. ( His favorite teas, currently, are rose, jasmine, ginger, and matcha—this last one he blames on Pyrrha even though he’d had matcha before. )

10. Neuroses ? Do they recognize them as such ?

Rhys has PTSD, anxiety, and depression. He’s been told the anxiety and depression might be a side effect of the PTSD and he figures that could be the case, because while they do get the better of him out of the blue, it’s mostly in conjunction with other PTSD symptoms.

These days he mostly deals with insomnia, nightmares or terrors, and a solid amount of guilt that he doubts will ever go away. But he does still have moments where he suffers from severe anxiety and struggles trusting people that give off a certain vibe or are settled in a certain emotional state that he doesn’t much care for. ( For example, Marley and Nikita pushed him a little bit in that direction at first, but the vendors at the farmer’s market didn’t. ) These moments are fewer and farther between now than they were when he first split from Arsenal, but healing is a long process and he knows that. Like anyone else, he relapses into his symptoms and has to go through his recovery process from what feels like the very beginning from time to time. As such, he recognizes his neuroses for what they are and is mindful of the way he tries to handle them and how they might be different based on his own genetic make-up.

12. Favorite book genre ?

Rhys likes to read a lot of different things and his favorite genre changes when he reads a particularly good work, but some that he always manages to go back to are mystery and speculative fiction, very specifically alternate history. Sometimes they freak him out, but they’re good reads, nonetheless. However, he also always comes back to westerns and fairy tale retellings as his guilty-pleasure reading. He’d never mention them to anyone, but he thinks they’re good and offer a different perspective from most anything else he’s ever read or been allowed to read.

14. Physical abnormalities ? ( Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc. )

Rhys has a plethora of scars. One of which comes from a bullet wound, the entry scar smaller than the exit and not perfectly lined up because it was a nasty shot. It did a lot of damage and he has some residual pain in his shoulder because of the damage it did, despite the fact that it takes a little more to injure him than most or that he heals quicker. He was shot by someone else from the organization on their orders, so he figures he’s probably lucky to have gotten away with what little damage it actually did, even if it aches in the cold or if he sleeps on it wrong.

His other scars didn’t come with residual pain, though some are just as gruesome. On top of his surgical scars ( which aren’t so bad, compared to the bullet wound or some of the other scars he has ), he has some larger scars on his torso from knife injuries. He has a long one that goes down his spine that he doesn’t remember getting, but figures it was stitched up in a hurry considering the way it looks. He has a few other scars littering his front, two of which are shorter knife wounds ( one that that goes from his left hip to the lower-middle of his chest and another on his lower stomach ), which he does remember. He also figures that’s why they look so much neater, so to speak, than the one on his back. He’d been able to suture those himself. he has some smaller scars along his sides and back, too, that he isn’t sure how he got them, but assumes they might be training injuries since they look more like something one might get when they fall. Like they’re from accidents or from broken glass. There aren’t a lot of those, but they are there.

His arms and legs, too, aren’t unaffected. He keeps his arms covered always because of the injuries he has there. His arms are worse than his torso as far as the number of scars go. Some are surgical from broken bones, but others are injuries he’s gotten from missions. It’s an accumulation of various types of scars on them, from knife injuries to a bullet graze on his right arm, but his left elbow is entirely scarred from a hard fall. His legs aren’t as bad, but he has a stab wound on his thigh that’s pretty obvious. The other scars on his legs are small and just things he’s accumulated throughout the years. Those aren’t too noticeable compared to his others, but he’s still pretty keen on long-pants and long sleeves.

Now, as far as food intolerances go, there aren’t any that he’s allergic to or anything of the sort, but he’s recently learned that he cannot tolerate grapefruit in any way, shape, or form. It was a very unfortunate thing to find out when he did, but previously he’d thought it was just because grapefruit are so bitter, but it’s their flavor as a whole. He can’t do it.

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal ?

His biggest long term goal is to take down the organization. His smallest long term goal is to stay alive. Smallest because, if that’s the smallest goal then the other, loftier goals will hopefully seem easier. Unfortunately, he’s thinking he might need to flip his goals.

18. Favorite beverage ?

If you couldn’t tell by his indulgences and daily rituals, his favorite beverage is tea ! His favorite teas change a lot like his favorite book genre, but he does have his consistent favorites. And next to tea, his favorite is probably water. He has mundane tastes.

20. Childhood illnesses ? Any interesting stories behind them ?

Rhys doesn’t remember having had any childhood illnesses, but before he was taken by the organization, he did have strep and ear infections often enough to have his tonsils removed ! But, as I said, this isn’t something that he remembers.

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen ?

He’d doodle. Rhys actually isn’t half bad when it comes to drawing, so he’d probably doodle various things, whether it be food, flowers, people, etc. Just whatever comes to mind, he’d probably doodle it if given the idle time to do so. On the flip side of that, though, he might also doodle people he’s seen only on-mission and in his nightmares. So it may not be as cathartic as doing something like yoga or re-calculating his nutrition labels.

24. Is there one subject of study that they excel at ? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all ?

Rhys’ ideals about education differ slightly because his was entirely non-traditional. So he excels particularly in criminology and English because he has actual working degrees in those subjects, but he also excels when it comes to gymnastics and martial arts. Partially because those were the physical pursuits that he can honestly say he preferred, even while a mindless, emotionless robot that was stuck in Labyrinth. He wouldn’t have called it that then, but looking back on it he’s certain that he enjoyed them. Even if he didn’t like them strongly then, he does now. They help keep him in shape, even if he doesn’t pursue them as often.

26. Do they have any plans for the future ? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout ?

Rhys’ current plans involve bringing the organization down somehow, whether it be by spilling everything to the government or SCAR or if he has to do something about them himself ( which, is the worst case scenario since he’s just one man and has no idea how he’d go about doing that ), but that’s as far as his plans for the future stretch. It’s sad, but Rhys also hasn’t thought about the fact that his future might stretch beyond that. Somewhere along the way, he came to terms with the fact that he’s going to die at some point in this process. The only hope that he really has for the future is that he’ll be easy to forget, for his friends’ sake. Which means he also has zero contingency plans aside from making sure that his friends will be safe in his absence and he’s thinking that SCAR would be able to manage that. If not them as an organization, then Nikita’s team specifically.

28. Who do they see as their best friend ? Their worst enemy ?

Rhys has a complicated understanding of the term best friend because he’s had so few in his lifetime and the ones he does have are people he would absolutely do anything for. But if he had to list any, he’d certainly say Tzan, Nona, and Pyrrha. Tzan was his first friend and the person that set him on the path he’s currently on, whether she meant to or not. Tzan introduced him to Nona who taught him to bake and is the sweetest person he’s ever known and the rest was history, really. Nona is, currently, still in the dark about Rhys’ situation. And then Pyrrha ! Who’s an absolute trooper in the mess that is Rhys’ life. Not only did she help him home after an ill-timed twisted ankle, but she also found his postcards and took it like a champ. Currently she’s trying to keep Rasmus from killing him and has somehow managed to befriend the SCAR group that was after the both of them. Pyrrha’s his most powerful friend, he’s certain.

His worst enemy, at this very specific point in time, is Rasmus. Because Rasmus knows that he’s friends with Nona, who he had come into contact with before at the cafe. But he’s reluctantly handed the reigns of dealing with Rasmus to Pyrrha for now. If anything seems to be going south, though, he’s absolutely on standby, per se. Though he does trust Pyrrha to be able to take care of herself and he seems to be able to count on Rasmus’ “no collateral damage” philosophy, he’s still really anxious about the whole thing.

Fun Fact: After Rasmus goes Double Agent and the two of them start working with SCAR, Rhys actually finds that he gets along with him really well. Which freaks him out for a little bit. ( Granted, he’s also amused at how impressionable Rasmus is at this point, too and wonders if he was like that. )

30. Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster. ( e.g. close family member suddenly dies. )

Rhys doesn’t have any close family members that he remembers, so if he were to hear that he had a family and something had happened to them, he’d be disappointed because he doesn’t remember them well and never got to know them, but he wouldn’t have the emotional attachment for it to really be considered an intrapersonal disaster.

Now, if something like that happened to one of his friends, Rhys would shut down. His reaction beyond that would largely depend on what happened to them. If it was an accident or a natural incident of some sort, then he’d shut down and just not have much of an idea how to deal with it, because the only other time he’s had someone close to him die, it was wiped from his memory and he was still an emotionless doll of sorts. So even though he did feel grief and remorse over it, the emotions wouldn’t have been anything compared to what he would feel at the loss of one of his friends now because he’s experienced things more deeply and on wider scales. As such, a natural death or an accident would probably leave him feeling pretty raw and unsure of a lot, as death often does. Now, if it were something like his friends becoming collateral damage in his own messed up narrative, he’d be far angrier and full of guilt and while Rhys is strongly opposed to murder these days, he would go after the person ( or people ) that did it. He’d shut himself off for a little while and go back to what the organization taught him. That said, he’d pull back away from his friends at this point, too. Maybe it’d turn him into a coward for not facing them after something like that, but he’d never put another of them in harm’s way again.

32. Thoughts on material possessions in general ?

Rhys isn’t necessarily materialistic, but he does hold on to his postcards regardless of where he goes. But he’s also fond of being able to own his own things. He picked out his furniture, his plates and silverware, his bedding, his shower curtain, his towels and other rags, his plants, his coffee table, his chairs, his dining table and chairs, his desk, etc. so he’s pretty fond of it all just because it took him a long time to put a personal touch on his apartment and now that he has, he’s very proud of it all.

34. Thoughts on privacy ? ( Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’ ? )

Rhys is indeed a private person. He’s decided that having a certain amount of privacy is definitely part of what makes his life outside of the organization all the better. When he was in the organization, he was always being watched by someone. His roommate, his table-mates at meals, his teachers, it didn’t matter when or where. Of course, he couldn’t say anything, because he did the same. They were all made to watch one another and give reports on behavior and possible deviations. And it only got worse after Elodie’s death, for him. That’s part of the reason he was so unnerved when he figured out he was being watched and followed by Marley and Nikita. It wasn’t so bad with Rasmus, because he’d known about Rasmus and had been expecting him, but growing complacent in his own security had led him to losing a little bit of his privacy, in that Marley and Nikita knew where he lived and knew the people he was friends with because he hadn’t noticed them. It all culminates in an incredible appreciation for privacy on Rhys’ part and a distinctive need for it as well.

36. What makes them feel guilty ?

This is a loaded question and one with a few different answers, because there’s a lot that makes Rhys feel guilty and rightly so. Those things that he’s guilty over and that he feels he rightly should be are the people whose lives he’s taken, the pain he’s brought to those people’s families, the friends he’s put in danger, the discomfort that his situation has brought to the friends that know, and the fact that he’s keeping some of his friends entirely in the dark. It’s a lot to feel guilty for and he feels that guilt every day in some way, shape, or form. It’s especially prominent in the face of those friends who aren’t even aware of the danger that he poses both as an individual and as someone who might bring other dangerous individuals around them without their knowledge, as evidenced by Nona and Rasmus.

Though those are the most prominent reasons for his guilt and ones he wishes he didn’t have to bare the guilt for, he also feels guilty over smaller, more mundane things. These things, however, are thing he relishes as moments of more harmless guilt and because it means he still feels things ! Those things include guilt over avoiding one of his neighbors on the street, not liking Nona’s grapefruit cookies, feeling vaguely threatened by the hairless cat in his neighborhood, and forgetting to pay his landlord rent the day it’s due and still being allowed to live in the apartment because the old man knows he’ll get it a day or two after, at the latest.

38. Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality ?

Rhys would consider himself someone who leans more toward a Type A personality, because he fits a fair number of the descriptors often given when a Type A personality is mentioned.

40. Would you say that they have a superiority-complex ? Inferiority-complex ? Neither ?

Rhys doesn’t have a superiority or inferiority-complex, except maybe in the form of morality. He feels like his moral compass is still incredibly underdeveloped in a lot of ways. He feels guilt for the things he’s done, but doesn’t know how to make amends for it, or if he even still can. He knows, theoretically, what’s good and what’s bad and that there’s a grey area in between. He struggles, though, in that grey area. He does his best to take ques from his friends, but he’s afraid that he’ll mess up eventually and be unable to clean up the mess he makes as a result. And so, his inferiority-complex when it comes to morality is very prominent.

42. Hobbies ?

Rhys’ hobbies include reading, cooking, and making small talk with his neighbors ( teaching some of them in the case of the thirteen year old he’s teaching German to ) to keep his language skills intact. He’s also trying to add baking to the mix so he can show Nona that all of her hard work in teaching him has paid off. He also takes care of houseplants that he’s somehow managed to keep alive and also flowers in the flower boxes on his little fire-escape balcony. Another hobby of his is going out and finding places to maybe hike or just spend time out in the sun. And he’s also recently discovered that he has some kind of knack for pottery, which may come from his lessons in the Labyrinth but he’s not quite sure. He doesn’t remember ever actually being taught to sculpt, but he very well could have been. Either way, he’s learning more about it because it’s apparently great stress relief.

44. Religion ?

Religion is something that Rhys has actually found himself struggling with. When he was still an Arsenal agent, he had to study a wide variety of religions and pretend to be devout when it came to some of them depending on his missions. This lead to him being taught that none of them are real, substantial viewpoints on the world at large, but now that he’s able to look at them a little more objectively and question his own beliefs ( or lack thereof, in this case ), he isn’t sure what he believes or thinks might be true. Many of them seem, to him, like they have some semblance of truth behind them, but right now the thought of devoting himself to any of them makes him a little bit anxious and unsure of himself. He thinks that maybe looking more into religion might help him with that, but he’s also not sure how well he can take on that monumental shift in belief systems. It’s daunting to him and he thinks that maybe seeking a bit of help with understanding the ones he leans more toward might not hurt.

46. Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds ?

Rhys tries his best to express his thoughts through both words and deeds. But more often he leans on words, because expressing anything through deeds is still something he’s trying to understand with complete clarity and as someone who knows a fair number of languages and reads the majority of his freetime away, his way with words isn’t lacking. Certainly, his eloquence isn’t always top notch, but that comes from not really knowing how to weave words into the emotions he felt for a long time. Now that he’s getting better at expressing how he feels, his eloquence is moving up the latter with him, per se.

That said, his more negative thoughts and emotions he tries to keep to himself, so he does his best not to express those through words or deeds. Whatever he can handle on his own, he will.

48. How do they express love ?

Rhys is still very much trying to figure out how to express love or what love even means. Yes, he’s been aware of his emotions for some time and yes, he’s been separated from the organization for going on two years and has been with his friends for a little less than that, but love is something still entirely new to him in a way. It’s intimidating and the mention of it frightens him a little bit. He thinks that how he feels about his friends is what someone might call platonic love, certainly. In which case, he expresses this love by checking up on them and talking to them regularly, spending time with them, recommending things to read to those friends who also like to read, little things like that. He hopes that those are adequate ways to show that he cares for them.

Now, Rhys doesn’t understand romantic love at all at this point in his life. He’s never been able to grow into his own when it comes to that and the prospect of it terrifies him. The thought that someone might eventually come to love him and he won’t know, won’t realize, or be able to return their feelings is one of the scariest things that he’s ever realized might be a possibility. Sure, he doesn’t see himself as the type that someone could ever possibly fall in love with, all things considered, but just the idea of it sends him into borderline panic. He thinks that he’d like to understand it, to fall in love, and be able to learn the ways he might express love romantically, but he doesn’t know if he’s capable of something so tender, so gentle, and so very soul-bearing as romance is meant to be.

50. Is this person afraid of dying ? Why or why not ?

The thought of death absolutely petrifies Rhys. As an Arsenal agent, before he or Elodie ever questioned anything, he didn’t think anything of it. Death was simply an occupational hazard, they lived or they didn’t, simple as that. After Elodie began questioning and Rhys lost her and took the bullet that he did, things began to change marginally. Until he found himself faced with the prospect of death, but also with his own thoughts, emotions, and experiences to shape him a little more. His fear of death grew pretty quickly all at once and his missions became a little harder because of that fear, though he also found that he never had to worry too much. Nowadays, he’s found himself petrified at the thought of it. He has friends now and he has things he wants to do, things he needs to atone for if that’s even possible, places he wants to go, things he wants to experience, and not nearly enough time to do it all. Death terrifies him because he doesn’t know what comes after. His studies showed him a lot of different options, but never anything concrete and it scares him.

@duskwilt

#duskwilt #➹ ( defector ) ━ hc.#was i listening to the princess and the frog song when i put the little title up there? without a doubt #also i made myself hurt with 48 yikes #and also with 26 and 50 but #it's fine #let me know if there's anything I need to clarify or you want to know more about!#guns //#death //#scars //#knife //#food //#murder //#ptsd //#anxiety //#depression //#surgery //#okay now i think that's everything?#long post

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colortile3 · 2 years ago

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picassho-18 · 7 years ago

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World Swapping Part 5

Summary: (Bucky x Fem!Reader) When a hard-core MCU fan travels into the events of Captain America: Civil War, she has to balance keeping the Avengers from tearing apart, and a growing adoration of the deadly Winter Solider.

Warnings: cursing as always, fluff this chapter, sort of sad, slight angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, and that it’s so short, but I really like this part, its so fluffy and cute, expect an exciting next part 6 too! And please, comment, reblog do whatever but let me known if you liked it!!

The Avengers had dwindled down to essential players. People who weren’t need like Ant Man and all the shield agents went back to work or home, and Tony told Peter to get back to homework, and he’d call later. That reminded you, you had to talk to Tony about how he handles Peter in Homecoming. The only people to remain were you, Steve, Tony, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, and T'challa. Everyone else went there own ways after Steve said we’d handle Y/N. You gave everyone a soft wave, sort of sad you wouldn’t see anyone again, only in the movies once you got home. You shook the feeling of, giving one last smile to Peter once he left the room. Once the remainders all sat down around you, you started to inform them on the plot of Doctor Strange.

Once you wrapped up with how Strange defeat Dormammu, Tony just chuckled, “Man, that’s ballsy. Wonder how many times the doc died… Anyways, do you have anything to point us in the direction of this so called New York Sanctum?”

“Yeah I do, let me just grab some paper…” You reached for a notepad, and a pencil, and sketched out the Sanctum symbol on it, “It looks like this, and it’s just another smaller old looking building with this symbol on top all big. I don’t know what else I could tell you, sorry” you say sort of ashamed at your knowledge running dry on your usually overflowing marvel facts.

Steve patted your shoulder reassuringly, “It’s okay, Y/N, you did good, it’s enough, right Tony, to find it?” He said turning to Tony.

Tony peered at the symbol, “Yeah give me a couple hours and I’ll have the coordinates.” He got up, and left, leaving you with the rest.

“Hey Y/N,” Nat turned to you, speaking “This sounds sort of dangerous, with all the voodoo crap going on, while we have time, want me to give you a little girls defense lesson?”

You squealed in excitement, “Oh my fucking God, the Black Widow wants to teach me how to fight, this is actually a dream come true! No seriously, this has been on my life bucket list since I’ve first seen you fight!”

Nat smiled at your response, “Okay cool, see you in the gym in 10 then!” she got up to leave, “Oh and get in the gear you got earlier, I’m gonna work you!”

You had gotten into your Widow-esque gear, and grabbed a water bottle before joining Nat in the training room. You both quickly got started, her showing you the basics. How the elbow is the strongest point on your body and could easily do a lot of damage, then proceeded to show you different attacking methods on the dummy. You were handling yourself well, glad you played a sport in high school so at least you were very body aware. After the elbow practice, Nat moved onto punches and kicks, still practicing on the dummy. You got a hold of the technique quickly, so she said you and her could spar. After a couple rounds of you holding your own, and realizing that you would probably never get a hit on her if she wasn’t dialing down her abilities you called a water break.

While you and Nat were sipping water, an idea sprung into your head, “Hey, Nat! So in most of the movies you are in you do this really cool takedown where you wrap your legs around the guys neck, usually Bucky, and swing to take them to the ground, could you teach me it?”

A knowing smile sprung on her face, “Ahhh, you want to learn my Widow Tactical Takedown. Love that move! Sure, I’ll totally teach you, but first we are gonna need something better than dummies. I’ll call Steve and Bucky over for practicing.”

Your face turned into a heated mess, worry eating at you realizing the position you just potentially put yourself in with Bucky. Nat saw the apprehension on your face and laughed, “Ah, I knew it, you definitely have the hots for Barnes. I am most definitely pairing you up with him!”

Worry ate at you until you saw Bucky and Steve walk in, and your mind went completely blank, for Bucky “The Freaking Roman God Body” Barnes walked in with a hella tight white athletic tee, and some gym shorts that made his legs look like they could crush anything in between them. You had to consciously keep for mouth shut, or else it would have dropped to the floor. Clearing your throat, and knocking any other inappropriate thoughts out of your head, you waved to them, saying hi.

Nat called them over, “So Stevie, remember my Widow Tactical Takedown? The one I would always use you to show to the recruits?”

“Yes… “ Steve said, apprehensively, like he knew where this was going.

“Well, Y/N has seen me do it a lot in the movies, and she wants to learn it. So I was gonna demonstrate on you like always, and she can practice on Bucky. Plus, she said I did it to Barnes a couple times so he should be good, right?” She asked the last part, looking at Bucky for confirmation that this was okay for him.

He cleared his throat, “Um, yeah I should be good, and I think I remember that. It was on a street right, the day Shield fell?”

You grinned at the memory, “Yeah, man that fight on the freeway then on the streets is by far my favorite movie fight scene. It’s literally 15 whole minutes of Bucky being a bad ass while he’s fighting my favorite ex-assassin, and my favorite super soldier. It’s the first time you really see the Winter Soldier fight, and the hand to hand combat between him and Steve was amazing. And plus, I’ve seen this video where someone set the whole freeway scene to Britney Spears “Toxic” and I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. God damn, that was some great fight sequences…” You say, getting lost in thought.

Bucky had a smile smile ghosting his face while Steve laughed at your little tangent. Nat chuckled, “Okay weirdo, let’s get started!”

She worked step by step on Steve. It was very easier for her, going very slow, showing each step, but Steve was blushing severely, everytime she was wrapped around his neck, trying not to do anything. You would have thought he harbored a crush on her if not for seeing him kiss Sharon in Civil War, who knows maybe he does.

After her doing it slow a couple times, and fully taking Steve down twice, you turn to Bucky with a shy smile, “You ready to do this?”

He returned to smile with an encouraging grin, pulling you up by the hand, “Yup let’s do this. Scratch it off this bucket list of yours!”

You bounced up and down a couple times, mentally preparing yourself, hoping you didn’t mess up miserably.

“Okay,” your mutter, “I’m so ready!” The first step running through your head. Launch up from your right leg, and get the left leg over his right shoulder. Easy peezy.

You managed to get the left leg over Bucky’s shoulder, but because of his metal arm in a certain position, you right leg got caught under it so you were hanging their on his chest, holding on by your knee near his head, and your arms, clutching on his shirt.

You started to slip due to your weak hold, shrieking but suddenly, Bucky caught you by placing his hands under your butt. You froze realizing his hands were holding your ass, and his face deepened to the darkest red that you thought humanly possible.

He muttered, shyly, I am so sorry…”

You tried to chuckled and relieve the tension, still holding on to his shirt with a death grip, “You’re good Buck. Plus it’s my bad, my right leg got stuck, so… Yeah I’m gonna get down and redo this.”

He nodded, letting you hop off him.

You saw Nat grinning ear to ear on your left, and you glared, “What are you laughing at Nat?”

“Hehe, nothing IN, nothing. You need to get your right leg up faster so you can complete wrap both legs around his neck, okaY?”

“Got it, ready Buck?” peering at him, ready for another try.

“Yup doll, let’s do this.”

So you launched yourself up, and this time you got both legs up on time. Both sadly, your success was short lived. You got stuck again halfway through it, so you were straddling his left shoulder. Due to your sudden stop in movement, you started to sway, but Bucky reached up and steadied you, “Thanks, I’m got stuck again, sorry if my weight is bothering you.”

You could feel the vibrations under you as he chuckled, “Doll, you could be a 100 pounds heavier and you would still feel feather light. Super soldier serum remember?”

“Haha” you laugh sarcastically, “How could I forgot?” You turned to Nat, “What do I do next?”

She motioned for Steve to stand up, and showed you on him, by positioning herself behind his head, leaning to the side, and rolling off him before he hit the ground.

“Thanks, Nat, Steve, okay Buck, you ready?”

He nodded, bracing himself, as you started to shift quickly and lean back. You felt his feet start to leave the floor as he fell backwards, so that was your moment to roll off and to the side of him. You landed on your feet while he landed on his side, groaned and rolled onto his stomach.

You hurried to his side, “Oh my God, no, Bucky did I hurt you?” You started to roll him over when he started to laugh, and grin spreading on his face. Now on his back, you playfully slapped his shoulder, “Not funny, dude, I thought I hurt you!”

He leaned up on his elbow, “Ah, you’d have to hit a lot harder to hurt me, doll” He smiled at you, a nice big one that made his eyes brighter than their normal Winter Soldiery gloom, with you on your knees near his side, grinning right back at him. It reminded you more of Sebastian Stan, and how he smiles with his whole face, making you realize that that’s how Bucky would smile when he’s really happy.

Your moment was interrupted when Tony came over the speaker, “Nat, Y’N, and the Super Soldier Duo, meet me at the Mission Briefing Office in 5, I got the location.”

Getting up, you offered Bucky you hand, and pulled him up with you. Your hands held together a little longer than normal but you tried not to notice.

The four of you walked to the office, and saw Tony already there with a screen showing the picture of the sanctum. You all sat down around the table. Tony cleared his throat and began, “As you already know, I want to keep this mission small, only the essential people, so it’s just going to be the five of us. Y/N, you already said goodbye to the others right?”

You nodded, an unknown emotion sweeping through you. Almost as if you didn’t want to leave. But you should want to go home, right?

Tony continued describing the plan, how we would get there, and the options for what would happen if anything bad occured. After going over the fine details, he wrapped up, saying, “Y/N, we might not get another time to say this, if it works, but on behalf of the Avengers, I want to formally thank you. You really saved or asses.”

You smiled shyly, shuffling your feet at their gratitude, “It was no problem. I always wanted to fix you guys since this movie came out so really it’s a honor.”

“Anyways, we are incredibly grateful.” Steve said, patting your shoulder. The moment ended, and every one left to get suited up.

After walking out of the office, Bucky caught up to you, grabbing your elbow, “Hey, need help suiting up?”

Peering down at your suit that was on, “Well um, my suit is on already on, but I could use some help with the weaponry.”

He helped you stock up your knives, after going over how to throw them in a much more detailed lesson then before. After he gave you a small gun this time, a pistol, and shot it a couple times, showing you the safety switch and how to turn it on and off. You absorbed everything, taking it all down to memory. After, you and Bucky were just sitting together on the bench with a couple minutes left before they would have to be in the quinjet. Breaking the silence, Bucky said quietly, not looking at you, but at his feet, “Y/N, I just wanted to say thank you. The words you told me right after my Winter Soldier episode helped me stay on my feet. I didn’t quite believe you at first but you treated me just like any other person, and you easily know what much more about what I’ve done than anyone else on the team, yet you still smiled at me and felt normal, felt human. You made me feel hope, something I hadn’t felt in a really long time, and I want to thank you for that.”

He finally looked up at you, a single tear running down his face. Slowly, you lifted you hand to rub it off, but kept you hand holding his cheek.

“Oh, Bucky, I still don’t understand how you don’t realize you deserve the world and more.”

Nat barged in on the two of you, causing the two of you to jump, and you to yank you hand off. Realizing that she interrupted something, she quickly grabbed her guns and left the two of you.

Bucky cleared his throat, “I um…” he looked hesitant, but then said, “Nevermind, we should go or we’ll be late”

So the two of you trudged to the quinjet, and loaded up sitting next to each other. Once everyone was on, Tony closed it up, and started the engine. “Let’s go see this Doctor Strange of yours Y/N”. The quinlet lurched upward, causing you to jerk in fear and grabbed Bucky’s hand. Though the jet, settled down, Bucky never let go.

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ramblinganthropologist · 6 years ago

Text

Inktober Day 18 - Bottle

Summary: Acting is hard enough, especially when there’s fight scenes involved. Briala was ready for that punch to the gut, but not for what came after. Events from the night before bring on a whole new headache. Man, this is why she hates method actors.

---

There was nothing like band practice after filming to remind you just how fucking exhausted you were. Everything hurt, and that was putting it mildly. Even the parts she didn't have hurt. How the hell did she get a phantom ache in a limb she never had?

“You ok over there, Bri?”

Briala turned, muscles twinging. The bassist from her band, a short dwarven woman, had left just as she did. She managed a smile, but even that hurt.

“Just... worn out. We're doing a lot of action shit on set lately.”

Why did Avery Hawke have to be so goddamn active anyway? Briala spent half her time in costume climbing onto her costar like she was some kin of shoulder gremlin. When she wasn't doing that, she was running around in prop armor that probably weighed as much as the real shit, going through telegraphed fights and getting her ass kicked. To say she was tired... tired wasn't even the right word for it. She was fucking wiped.

“Don't break your vocal chords, we need you ready for Sunday.” The dwarf patted her on the back. “Get some rest. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks!” Briala stuck out her tongue as her band mate disappeared into the night. “Asshole.”

Sighing, she kept walking. It was a short distance to where she lived, and it wasn't like people knew her on sight yet anyway. There were plenty of elves with brown hair and blue eyes anyway – maybe they didn't have as much metal in their face as she did, but it took the heat off. It wasn't like she was a certain seven foot tall Antivan who couldn't avoid people if his life depended on it. For that, she was glad to be short; it was probably the only time in her life she was.

She was also thirsty. Practice had taken it out of her. However, much to Briala's displeasure when she made a grab for her water bottle, the condensation caused it to slip out of her hands. She swore as it smacked hard into her foot and rolled away.

“Oh come on, do I seriously gotta run some more?”

Groaning, the elf broke out into a slow jog to catch her water bottle as it rolled away thanks to the slight hill she had been standing on. At one point, it rolled out of her sight. However, the great thing about being elven was being able to see in the dark. There it was, half hidden by a trash can it had bumped up against.

Sighing in relief, she reached down to grab it. “Now I'm even thirstier.”

Off went the lid, and into her mouth it went. However as the first mouthful went down, Briala's eyes widened and she spat it out onto the ground. Rust and salt filled her mouth and made her want to throw up. But she didn't. She swallowed, and man did her stomach not like that. At least once it tried to get it up, but she kept it down.

Spitters were quitters.

“Gross... those fuckers must've messed with my bottle when I was in the bathroom.” Scowling, she unscrewed the lid and dumped it into the nearby sewer. “I'm gonna get them for sure the next time I see them. Now I've got this damn taste in my mouth and I'm still thirsty.”

Pouting a little, Briala returned to her path of heading for home where there would be plenty of not fucked with water for her to drink. After that, it would be another night of sleeping like she was dead, then filming in the morning. Lather, rinse, repeat.

---

B: Yo, whoever fucked with my bottle last night is a real asshole.

Nobody had answered her text in the group chat before Briala had to put away her phone. Into the hidden pocket of her prop armor it went. Hopefully when she got her ass beat, it wouldn't get knocked around. She really didn't want to have to redo this scene because modern technology reared its ugly head on the streets of Kirkwall during a street brawl.

“Don't kick me in the kidney this time, ok?” Malcolm was also in armor and waiting for her to climb on up. Briala didn't quite have Avery's legendary technique worked out, but she did well enough. Up she went, and soon she was sitting on her costar's shoulders. In a few seconds, she would be launching straight into the fake fight and then it would be go time.

“Don't have your kidney where my foot is.” Briala grimaced as she held her stomach as a passing pain made her wonder if her appendix was about to go nuclear. It left her soon enough, but she made a note to check it out later. “Anyway, get ready. It's almost go time.”

It was a long way to the ground from Malcolm's massive shoulders. Add in the fact she'd be jumping off... and well it wasn't as if she was afraid of heights, but damn if Avery Hawke hadn't been an extra little bitch. They had told her when she signed on it be pretty active, but this was just ridiculous. Plus, what with her stomach and all, she could already feel the urge to throw up returning. Hopefully it wouldn't be on her costar – he wouldn't like that. Plus, retake and all that.

As she said – really wanted to do this in one shot. There was only so many times she could launch herself off a full grown man in one day.

The director called action from off set, and then there they were in the middle of Kirkwall's Lowtown, circa 9:31 Dragon. Just as it was written on the script, the gang advanced. Behind them was a tied up elf – Hawke's cousin. From where Briala was sitting, they looked quite realistic. Then again, from where she was sitting she could also see where the Velcro was.

It was a toss up sometimes.

“Didn't think you two would actually show up.” Head bozo, actually a pretty chill guy, pointed his finger at them. “Alright, now drop the 20 sovereigns and back away. Nobody has to get hurt today.”

Up on Malcolm's shoulders, Briala smirked and leaned hard on her Ferelden roots. “Oh, I think you gave up that option when you tied Eth up. Now, if anyone doesn't want to go see the healer, I'd advise you to leave now.”

They didn't, of course. Instead, one of them took a choreographed step forward. Then came the sword, fake, swinging straight at Malcolm's midsection. He blocked with his staff, and that was her cue. In the blink of an eye, Briala stood, made a grab for her prop sword, and in one jump launched off her costar's shoulders just as he pulled his staff back.

The prop swords met – sound effects would be added later – and the grunt she had been tasked to land on fell back as promised. He cushioned her fall, but there was still a mild ache in her ankles. Still, off she went, shield now on her arm and ready to go.

“Have it your way then!”

The fight was now on – team Hawke vs team assholes. Every time Briala's sword was hit, she felt the vibrations all the way through the arm she had. Instead of wearing her out like it normally did, she felt even more ready to go. She leaned into the weird adrenaline rush – might as well. The next part hurt. It was written on script she got punched in the gut by an opportunistic gang member. No cushioning made it much better.

The dull thump to her gut dropped her to her knee. She wasn't seeing stars, though. Something was bubbling up in her stomach like she was about to throw up. It wasn't vomit, though – her entire body felt hot, almost as if it was boiling in her prop armor. The overhead lights weren't doing this as she managed to rocket up, both feeling and not feeling the sensation of pain at the same time.

Kick that guy's ass.

That was what her instincts said – choreography evaporated from her mind. Instead she just launched forward with more speed that she had ever felt in her life. Her prop sword might have been fake, but it still probably hurt when she smacked down with all her weight.

“Cut!”

Briala didn't stop, not until Malcolm grabbed her moments later. The guy on the floor had a bloody nose, a black eye, and looked absolutely terrified. He wasn't the only one – she was struggling hard, instinct screaming kick that guy's ass.

It wasn't until she saw her own reflection in Malcolm's fake armor that she realized something was wrong. Her pupils were dilated and a red tinge had taken over her eyes. When had her incisors been that sharp either?

Her costar carried her off stage past stunned crew and cast. He eventually plopped her down far away from the fight, keeping close should she try to bolt for it. Briala just sunk down against the wall, energy spent. Whatever had gone on was over now. The pain was back too.

“Oww...”

Malcolm shook his head as he sat down so they could have an actual eye to eye conversation. Otherwise, she would have been looking at his belly button. He gave her the once over, lingering on her face. His eyebrows knit together, but he said nothing.

Briala rubbed her sore gut to lessen the pain. “He got me good.”

“You got him better. He's lucky you didn't break something.” Malcolm was still looking at her. “Did you drink anything weird?”

Huh.

The smaller actor's mind felt like soup right then. Higher reason was kind of out of the picture. However, she heard the words 'drink' and 'weird' which were enough. The image of the night before struck her almost as hard as the fist.

The bottle.

Working out words was a little easier with time. “My water bottle tasted weird last night after it got away from me. I had to dump it out before I went home.”

“What did it taste like?”

The answer came not from words but a dull realization. Sometime during the fight, Briala's teeth had bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. It wasn't a bad bite, but it was hurt enough to bleed. It was that same salty, rust-tinged flavor she had experienced the night before, and it was enough to make her head snap up.

Red eyes, sharp teeth... shit.

“Shit. I think someone gave me blood.”

Malcolm nodded, no doubt coming to the same realization. “Dragon blood, to be exact. Didn't think you could still get that today, but your little power play out there says otherwise.”

Briala's stomach rolled, and it wasn't from the punch. She wasn't a mage like Malcolm, but she knew enough about her character's life to put the pieces together. Part of why she had to be such a crazy asshole in a fight was that Avery Hawke was a reaver. While she didn't understand how it worked, something about drinking dragon's blood and being in pain triggered the rush of strength and adrenaline that made the champion's fights so dramatic.

Now she understood those passage in Avery's diary about the sudden surge that had pushed her forward in her most deadly fights. If she was right... she swallowed past the lump in her throat at the thought. Well, it wasn't good.

“Guess I'm gonna need a trip to the healer after this, huh?”

Yeah, for a blood test. Hopefully in the Digital Age they had somehow figured out a test for reaver that didn't involve an orderly being punched. Still, Briala couldn't worry about that now. There was an asshole out there with dragon's blood who apparently had a hard on for giving it to people. Was she the only one? Or was there more out there?

Man, she really didn't need to think about this now. Her head hurt enough without being victim zero of a reaver creation spree. Talk about taking method acting a step too far. Her only hope was that the effects were temporary. After all, she had only had a little bit... something like a permanent boost should take more.

At least... she hoped so. That was how it worked, right?

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #That Dragon Age Actor AU

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