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supernatural-fangirl1967 · 5 years ago

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Playing Pretend - Part 6

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Anxiety, Panic attack, Fluff

Word Count: 4,011

A/N: This is Part 6 of Playing Pretend. Please let me know what you think!

"You okay?" Dean asks as he looks across the breakfast table at you.

"Dean," you laugh softly. "You do not have to keep asking me that, alright? I'm fine. I promise."

"Okay," Dean says softly as he reaches across the table to take your hand in his.

"(Y/N)?"

You look over to see some woman walking over towards your table, so you smile a bit at her. "Hi."

"Is this your boyfriend that your mother keeps telling me about?" she asks as she looks over at Dean. The way she is looking at him makes you uncomfortable and you are not going to admit that there's a hint of jealousy there.

"Yeah," you tell her. "This is Dean."

She smiles over at Dean before looking at you. "(Y/N), your mother has been telling me all about you."

"Oh, really?" you ask her.

"Yes and I've got to say that I was a little bit disappointed to find out that you have gotten away from how you had been brought up."

You give her a look. "She told you that?"

"No, but I can obviously see that for myself."

You see out of the corner of your eye as Dean perks up a bit, listening intently to what this woman is going to say to you.

"Excuse me?" you ask her.

"Well, I mean, look at the way you are dressed."

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smarting off to her. "What's wrong with what I am wearing?"

"You see how everybody else here is dressed appropriately but you're wearing that..."

"I think she looks nice," Dean says as he gives your hand a small squeeze.

She looks over at Dean and eyes him a bit. "Of course you do."

Dean looks across the table at you and you shrug your shoulders a bit.

"Honestly, (Y/N), I figured that you would live up to your parent’s expectations better than that."

"And we're done here," Dean says as he stands up out of his chair, pulling you up with him as he wraps an arm around your waist. "Let's go, sweetheart."

You follow Dean out into the lobby and he lets go you as he turns to look at you.

"I have absolutely no idea who that is," you laugh. "Thank you, Dean, for sticking up for me." You stop talking when you see the look that Dean is giving you. "What's wrong?"

Dean sets his jaw and he throws his arms up. "How could you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How can you sit there and let her say that stuff to you?"

"Dean..."

"She said horrible things to you and you sat there and took it," Dean tells you. "Seriously, (Y/N), do you think so little of yourself that you won't stand up for yourself?"

"What, are you mad at me because you stood up for me?"

"No, (Y/N), you're my friend and that's what I was supposed to do and I'd do it whenever you need me to, but still you could have said something or at least got up and walked away!"

"I did walk away, Dean!"

"Yeah, after I grabbed your hand and made you leave!" Dean tells you.

"What on earth do you want from me, Dean?" you ask him as tears well up in your eyes.

"I want you to think more of yourself, (Y/N). I want you to start speaking up for yourself."

"You didn't say anything when she made that comment to you."

"Because she only did that to take another stab at you," Dean tells you.

"Please tell me why you are mad at me."

"You deserve better. You deserve better than to sit there and take that crap!"

"Dean, if I had said anything then she would have called me a smart alleck."

"Then you let her because it wouldn't have been true! As long as you only do something. Say something. Anything other than sitting there and taking whatever is thrown at you!"

"Fine, you want me to speak up for myself, then here it is!" you tell him. "I don't like people yelling at me! You have a problem with me you can sit me down and tell me calmly. Now I get that you're upset but don't handle it like this!"

Dean swallows hard. "Fair enough." Dean takes a deep breath and he shakes his head at you. "(Y/N), I'm sorry for jumping on you like this, but you've gotta know that I care about you and you are my friend and I didn't like seeing you sit there and take it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you are dressed and because these people have money doesn't mean that they have the right to tell you differently."

"I know," you breathe out. "I know and I'm sorry, but my whole life I was taught to not speak up. I was taught that you sit and take it and don't stoop to the other person's level."

"That's a bunch of crap," Dean says. "You can't tell me that your parents have never stood up for themselves."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"(Y/N), we're taught that as kids because kids aren't supposed to fight the adults. But you are not a kid anymore. You are the adult now and you shouldn't let another adult talk to you like that."

"Why are you so tore up about this, Dean?"

"Because if I had stood up for myself then I wouldn't be where I am now," Dean tells you.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"(Y/N), do you honestly think that I took off because things got tough? No, I took off because I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"What?"

"My parents died and then I lost my house and there's no way that I'm going to turn to my little brother for help so I ran. I ran like a coward and you're going to be a coward too if you don't stand up for yourself."

Dean turns to walk off and you reach out to grab onto his hand. "Dean, please don't be mad at me for this."

Dean takes a deep breath. "I'm not mad but I am a bit aggravated. There is a difference."

"I get that," you tell him softly. Dean nods his head as he gives your hand a small squeeze.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?"

"It's alright," you tell Dean softly as you look up at him. "I'm sorry too."

"Don't be sorry," Dean says. "If there's anything else that is bothering me I promise you that I will talk to you instead of yelling at you like I did."

"Thank you, Dean," you tell him softly. Dean gives you a soft smile as he wraps an arm around your waist.

"Hey, don't think that I missed that jealous look."

You scoff a bit. "What jealous look?"

"Uh, that woman was totally flirting with me when she first walked up and you got obviously jealous."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yeah sure you don't," Dean smiles at you. "We good?"

"Yeah, Dean," you tell him softly and you nod your head a bit at him. "We're good, Dean."

"Good," Dean says as he leans over to press a kiss to your head. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dean?" you ask him as you sit down onto the couch beside of him.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

You take a deep breath. "Tell me if I'm prying here but while ago did you admit that you're..."

"Homeless?" Dean asks you. "Yeah, I did."

"Why did you seem almost embarrassed to tell me?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders a bit at you. "Because it's embarrassing."

"No it isn't," you tell him softly.

"Like I said, I had a little bit of money from my parents but it definitely isn't enough to rent a place and keep myself up."

"So your plan is to..."

"I don't know," Dean says as he stares down at the ground. "I got fired from my job and all the money I'd put up for building my own garage went towards legal fees."

You take a deep breath. "Dean, I'm not meaning to be nosy here but are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No," Dean tells you as he shakes his head a bit at you. "I was though and if that makes you uncomfortable..."

"What'd you do?"

Dean swallows hard. "I don't feel like telling you everything right now but you need to know that I didn't do what they were saying that I did. I promise."

"Okay," you tell Dean softly. "I believe you."

Dean chuckles as he looks over at you. "Sweetheart, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you're crazy."

"Thank you, Dean," you laugh.

He smiles softly at you. "Most girls would be yelling at me to leave them alone. Think that I'm some kind of creep or something."

You shrug your shoulders a bit at him. "I trust you, Dean."

"Why? Because you've known me for so long and we're such good friends?"

"Exactly," you smile. "I don't know. I don't have a reason not to trust you."

"Don't really have one to trust me either."

You take a deep breath. "Yeah I do," you tell him truthfully. "You're here for me."

"Yeah, but for all you know I could be here not to help you but for some weird and creepy reason."

"But you're not."

"You don't know that."

"Dean," you giggle. "Do you want me to believe you or not?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean smiles.

"Good," you tell him as you stand up off of the couch. "Now, please tell me that we're not going to sit here until dinner."

"I thought that we were going to do movie night," Dean tells you.

"We are but you don't want to sit here for hours do you?"

"I don't know," Dean says as he shrugs his shoulders a bit. "If I get to sit here with you then it might not be so bad."

"Don't flirt with me, Winchester," you laugh.

"Don't get bossy, sweetheart," Dean teases you. He looks over your shoulder and out the window, laughing a bit when he sees the weather.

"What?"

"It's raining," Dean tells you. "Couldn't do much outside anyways."

You take a deep breath. "Well, we could stay cooped up in here if you want to."

Dean smirks at you. "Do you know if there's any board game around this place?"

"Oh, you're on, Winchester."

"I hate this game!" you yell an hour later as you throw your handful of cards across the room.

Dean chuckles as he looks over at you. "I told you that you shouldn't have said that I couldn't beat you. If we were actually gambling right now then you'd owe me enough money to buy a couple cars and a nice house." You laugh at Dean, but it's cut short when a clap of thunder echoes throughout the room. You look out of the window and freeze up a bit.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Dean says softly as he reaches over to lay a hand onto your knee. "You're alright, sweetheart. I am right here."

"I didn't used to be so scared of storms like this," you breathe out as you look over at Dean. "But since my anxiety has been out of control..."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Dean smiles softly at you as he rubs his thumb across your knee. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe out and you nod your head at Dean. "I'm alright now, Dean."

"Good," Dean smiles at you as he stands up off of the floor. He holds a hand out for you to take, causing you to smile up at him as you place your hand in his. Dean pulls you up off of the floor and wraps his arms tightly around you. "Thank you," Dean tells you softly as he hides his face in your hair.

"For what?" you ask him as you wrap your own arms around Dean's body.

"Not asking me questions when you know that I don't want to talk," Dean tells you. "Being patient with me. For trusting me." Dean pulls away a bit to look you in the eyes. "(Y/N), thank you for being a friend to me."

You smile softly up at Dean and you nod your head a bit at him. "Thank you too for doing all of that for me, Dean. And also for being so understanding of my anxiety. You should know that you're the only person who's been able to talk me out of a panic attack."

Dean gives you a look. "Really? The only person?" You take a deep breath and you nod your head at Dean. "Well, what do you usually do when you have an attack?"

"Go through it," you tell him softly.

Dean's eyes widen a bit. "If you don't care for me asking this, how bad can they get?"

"Um..." You take a deep breath. "I usually wind up in a corner somewhere curled up in a ball with my hands over my ears and my eyes shut tight so that I can't see or hear anybody until it's over with."

Dean swallows hard. "(Y/N), that's awful, sweetheart."

"Yeah, well," you shrug your shoulders at him, "it is my normal and I deal with it I guess. You've spoiled me though, Winchester. It's a big relief to have someone there who is able to help me through it all."

"Well, I'm glad that I could help you out for a while," Dean tells you as he presses a kiss to your head. And it hits you. Dean isn't going to be able to help you through every panic attack that you have because you're only friends. He's going to help through this week and then maybe you two get to talk on the phone with each other every so often. You take a deep breath, trying really hard not to have an attack while talking about them.

Your phone beeps, so you pull away from Dean and walk over to the coffee table to pick it up.

"What is it?" Dean asks when he sees the look on your face. You look over at Dean and take a deep breath.

"My mom texted me to tell me that if the rain lets up they're wanting to have a bonfire if we want to join them after dinner."

"Do you want to go?" Dean asks.

You look up at him and you take a deep breath. "We wouldn't be able to do movie night unless we did while we eat, took a break, and then put another movie on after the bonfire."

"You want to go," Dean chuckles at the look on you face.

"Kinda," you smile. "I love that kind of stuff but, I mean, if you don't want to..."

"Whatever you want to do, sweetheart, is completely fine with me," Dean tells you sincerely. You smile up at him and you nod your head a bit.

"So it's alright if I tell her that we'll be there?"

"It's perfectly fine," Dean smiles at you. He likes seeing you so happy like this. Likes seeing your highs along with your lows. He only hopes that you feel that way with him when he wants to open up to you about everything. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I didn't think that my family was capable of doing anything like this," you tell Dean as you rest your head against his chest. Dean uses his arms to prop himself up as you both sit on the blanket that he spread out on the ground.

"This is nice," Dean says as he shifts all of his weight to one arm and he brings his free one up to wrap it around you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You look around at all of the people either sitting or standing by the fire and smile a bit.

"At least it seems like everybody is getting along with each other."

"Yeah."

You smile as you turn your head to look up at Dean. "I'm sorry that we're missing our movie night."

Dean laughs as he shakes his head a bit at you. "I'm not," Dean tells you.

"You're not?"

"No," Dean says. "You wanna know why?"

"Sure," you smile.

Dean gives you a soft look as he presses his forehead against yours. "Because I've got the most beautiful girl sitting right here in my arms and I get to show off to everybody here that she's mine."

You blush a bit but you know that he's only saying that for show. You're supposed to be acting like a real couple, and couples are supposed to say sickeningly sweet things like that to each other.

As you look at Dean, you can't help but to notice the way the flames illuminate his face. The orangish glow really makes his freckles stick out and you only now realize exactly how green those eyes are. Gosh he's attractive.

Dean moves his head a bit to press a soft kiss to your lips. One soft kiss turns into two then you're losing yourself in the feeling of Dean's lips moving in sync with yours. You feel Dean's thumb softly brushing over your cheek so you lean into his touch. He pulls away a bit to lean his forehead against yours as he looks at you with hooded eyes.

You swallow hard because he isn't really looking at you like that. You're not really his girl like he said. He's only playing pretend.

You can see your mom standing there out of the corner of your eye. She's smiling over at the both of you and you know that this Is going well. They're buying it. They actually think that Dean and you are together.

"Comfortable?" Dean asks, his fingers gently digging into your skin enough that you're able to feel that he's there.

"Yeah," you tell Dean as you smile softly up at him. "What about you?"

Dean smiles at you and his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'm fine, sweetheart."

"Good."

"You've gotta do better than that if people are going to think that we're actually together, sweetheart," Dean tells you softly. "I feel like I'm doing it all here."

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"It's alright," Dean smiles at you as he rubs his free hand up and down your arm. "Take a deep breath. Don't try so hard."

You nod and you lay your hand against Dean's chest as you rest your head over against his shoulder. "That better?" you ask him softly as you turn your head a bit to look up at him.

"Yeah," Dean chuckles as he leans his head against yours. "That's better." Dean wraps both of his arms around you and you let your eyes slide shut. "You gonna fall asleep on me there, sweetheart?"

"Probably," you mumble.

Dean sits there with you in his arms for a while, and he laughs a bit when he looks down at you to see that you're asleep. "(Y/N)," Dean whispers as he nudges you a bit.

"No," you say and you hide your face in Dean's neck.

"Let's go to bed," Dean says softly as he tries to stand up. You make a noise and pull Dean down. "I will carry you if I have to."

"Okay," you mumble.

Dean chuckles as he moves you around so that he can stand up. He scoops you up into his arms and your head lolls over onto his shoulder. "You definitely owe me," Dean teases as he carries you across the yard and into the lobby of the hotel. You open your eyes to see your mom looking over at the both of you and she smiles a bit at you.

"I think that Mom's happy with us," you tell Dean softly as you open your heavy eyes to look up at him.

"I think so too," Dean chuckles as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. Tears well up in your eyes when you think about it. She's happy for you and you know that your dad probably feels the same. They think that you've found someone who treats you well and makes you happy, and it's all a lie. "What's wrong, pretty girl?" Dean asks you as he tightens his hold on you.

"Nothing," you tell Dean as you shake your head a bit at him. "I'm tired is all."

Dean frowns as he carefully holds onto you with one hand, and he uses his free hand to open up the hotel room door. Dean carries you over to the bed and he lays you down on top of the mattress.

"Talk to me," Dean says softly as he gently rubs his hand over your head. You shake your head at Dean as you let the tears fall.

"The couch..."

"No. It's alright if you sleep here as long as you're comfortable with it."

You nod and you let the sobs overtake you. Dean's heart breaks as he walks over to the other side of the bed and he lays down. You turn to hide your face in one of the pillows between you two and Dean stretches an arm over to wrap it around your waist.

"I don't have anything real," you cry out into the pillow as Dean rubs a hand up and down your arm.

"Sweetheart, that's not true."

"This relationship isn't real. I say that I don't take money from my parents but then I help my dad so they pay me and it's the exact same thing and I..."

"Shh," Dean whispers as he holds you as tightly to him as he can with the pillows in your way. "You're tired, sweetheart. You're upset and you're not thinking straight."

You sob and you open your eyes to look over at Dean. "They're happy for me, Dean," you choke out. "My parents are happy for me and it isn't even real. I'm lying to them. I'm making you lie and I'm an awful person for that."

"Hey, (Y/N), this was completely my idea in case you forgot," Dean tells you.

"Yeah, but I didn't have to go through with it," you tell Dean, your breaths choppy and hard as you try and calm down.

"Okay. Okay. Calm down," Dean shushes you. "You've gotta get some sleep."

You nod but you can feel your body getting tingly from the lack of oxygen. You know that you're crossing into full blown panic attack. Dean can't stand seeing you like this so he does the only thing that he can think of. Dean leans over to press his lips to yours, bringing a hand up to lay it over onto your cheek. Dean pulls away a bit as he rubs his thumb across your cheeks underneath your eye.

"Breathe," Dean tells you softly as he tries his best to wipe your tears away with his thumbs.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry," you tell Dean as you hide your face in your hands.

"Hey, sweetheart, don't apologize, please," Dean tells you.

"Here you're worse off than I am and you're not complaining and I'm crying because I don't have a real relationship but then you lost your parents and your house and now you probably think that I'm a horrible person."

"No, (Y/N)," Dean whispers as he pulls you in a bit tighter. "Breathe, sweetheart."

"Can't," you choke out. Dean reaches over to grab your hand and he places it on his chest. Dean takes a deep breath, and now you know that he's doing. He's trying to get you to do as he's doing. You try and match your breathing to Dean's and it helps to calm you down a bit.

"There you go," Dean whispers, trying to keep his voice soft hoping that it will help you more. Dean keeps talking softly to you and you listen to his soothing voice as you drift off to sleep.

Tags: @campingmonkey @flamencodiva @hennessy0274-blog @halesandy @waywardbeanie @vicmc624 @itsasquirrelo @idksupernatural @adoptdontshoppets @imaginationisgrowth @deanwanddamons @foxyjwls007 @stoneyggirl @hobby27 @rosalynshields @squirrelnotsam @cookiechipdough @justanotherwinchester @coldmuffinbanditshoe @supernatural-bellawinchester @perpetualabsurdity

#playing pretend #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #fake dating #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #SPN #fanfic

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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

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WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre��”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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hyukiee · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1: Destiny

warnings: cussing, drug use, mental illness (future fluff, smut, angst, etc.)

this is my first story i’m writing on tumblr, I hope y’all like it. I’ll probably update once or twice a week. I plan on this not so lovely love story to be pretty long.. and angsty. Enjoy :)

Dreams are one of the most unknown things we experience, yet no one questions our lack of knowledge about them when we lay in bed at night. Not everybody dreams. Some people only dream when their happy... or sad... or scared... or it just happens every blue moon for no reason at all. You dream every day, to the point where you feel a little depressed if you don’t have one. They never take you to wonderland, their never right, something is always off but you liked them anyways. They gave you an escape from reality, until reality started showing up in your dreams. The reality that you’re slowly killing yourself when really this was supposed to be the peak of your existence. The reality that you literally gave the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, the ugliest look in downtown Hollywood and the reality that you know you will ruin his life or get close to it.

‘That stupid fucking asshole, I can’t believe that no good piece of shit left me to fend for myself. It’s so fucking hot. Fuck off Karen, my face is easier to look at than that awful sweater. Fuck. I need to sit down.’ You stopped walking and you look at yourself through the reflection of some enterance to a cafe, it smells like. Jesus christ, those eye bags look like black eyes. You went to your closest friends party the other night, you didn’t want to go so that explains the oversized grey hoodie and grey sweats that... have dirt on them? How the fuck- you know what, you’ve seen worse. You can’t go inside the cafe looking like this though. The shady floor will do for now. Everyone is wearing work clothes so you must of slept through all of Sunday. Alone. Because your dick head of a friend abandoned you, god knows when but for someone that slept through an entire day, you’re tired. Maybe it’s just the mental exhaustion you live with but god you could use a nap. “E-eguse me ehm here you go,” you look up and see the most perfectly built man you have ever seen, holding a.. $10 bill? You unknowingly glare at him after noticing his arm holding out the money to you. He looked nervous, and foreign as fuck what accent is that? “I’m not homeless, fuck off.” Who the fuck is he to assume your homeless? Cant someone sit in piece for a little? Prick. You stood up, hitting his shoulder as you walked away, not ever looking back at his beautiful face.

Wake up, go to the beach, take a xans, go to work, go home, sleep, wake up, eat, sleep, and wake up to repeat the process. You always hated living by a constant schedule, but at this point you do anything you can to hurt yourself. The weekends are different though, its always spontaneous. Will you snort a line with the crackheads down the street or will you go to a party because you know the college kids adore their new interest in drugs? You really don’t need drugs. You’re fine. Depression put you in this place and god you feel like a coward. People go through so much more and stay away from drugs. Coward. Your thoughts consist of things like this often, even when your supposed to be hearing your idiot friends excuse for abandoning you last week. “Y/n, seriously, I could of sworn you were dead.” “Wow, thanks Julian, i’ll make sure to leave your lifeless body instead of calling 911 like a sane person when I get the chance.” You both rolled your eyes in sync. You loved Julian, he’s such a dumbass but despite saying he’s your closest friend, your hardly friends. You met before you dropped out of college, he was your dealer, one of the nicest ones you’ve met. You ran into him often and bought from him often as well so you would talk but the reality is he only stays because you’re his best costumer and you frankly don’t care because you are too lost to even care about someone else.

“Y/n, I think you should lay back on your habits a little bit,” Julian broke the silence you both had on the pier. You both liked to meet up at the pier and smoke a little. “Oh please, don’t act like you care. Drop the act and be a fake friend to me, please,” you spoke unemotionally, making eye contact with him. “I’ve never met someone asking for a fake friend.” “Real ones require you to love and deal with them. I can’t do that for you Julian but I know that’s not what you wanted anyways. I practically pay your rent, just thank me and change the topic.” He sighed. Not a disappointed one, a relived one. Julian has been a dealer for a very long time, he stopped caring about his costumers decisions. He didn’t truly care for your health, it was the sad truth. He did get worried that night at his party but only because he isn’t heartless. You knew that though, you seemed so lifeless and incapable of feeling anything to him. He wondered about your story at times but he knew somehow he would never get it. You’re easy to talk to though, it’s nice. “Thank you.”

Ever since you were little you wanted to live in a big city like L.A. Although, you imagined you would be going to UCLA and going to study on a beach just because you could. Standing next to Julian in line at Coachella, you just now take in how completely different your life turned out but at least you did end up here. Julian gets into Coachella for free every single year so your always his +1. You love gatherings like this but this one is just a little too Pg for you. You always end up spending most of your time at the food trucks. But according to Julian, ‘so many people would kill to be around this many celebrities’ so maybe you could get a drink or two in and mingle or whatever. It won’t kill you. So here you are, waiting to get a margarita because god knows you can’t be any type of social while sober. “I guess you weren’t homeless after all, my apologies,” you turn around and see the beautifully built man leaning down towards you. You could run. You’re not to far from the exit and it would be impossible to run into this guy for a third time... right? “Are you following me?” That was supposed to stay in your thoughts.. Is he though? How the hell do you see each other in two different cities? Sure, everyone knows about Coachella but how does he recognize you, you look good today, not homeless or drugged up, whichever works. “Ah, sorry, my english bad,” He stood up straight rubbing his hand on the back of his neck nervously. Right. Foreigner with a unknown accent. “What language do you speak?” It’s not like you’re going to understand his language but your curiosity is getting the best- “Korean.” You know it really isn’t too late to run. This man could be lying, trying to kidnap you and sex traffic you. What are the chances he just happens to speak the one other language you do as well. He could be faking this for all you know. “Hello,” You haven’t spoken in Korean since high school. You dont know why you even let that out. “You speak Korean? Wow, hello!” He bowed to you slightly with a box like smile on his face. That’s cute. It’s different. “I really am sorry for mistaking you the other day, do you mind me asking what happened?” “I was on a lot of drugs at a party and my friend abandoned me because he thought I overdosed.” You learned a long time ago to leave your addiction to yourself. People look at you differently when you do drugs, even your closest friends. That’s one of the first lessons you learn as a drug addict, keep it to yourself. The only people that know you do drugs are the ones that do them too. You could of lied to him, but the self destructive part of you couldn’t help but push this stranger away. You turned around to look at him after it got awkwardly silent. “What? You surprised? Scared? No harsh feelings, I don’t even know you.” You held in a laugh from his shocked and awkward expression. “Your right, we don’t know each other, I’m Taehyung,” He held out his hand replacing his taken aback expression back to his box-y smile, pretending what you said just never happened. ”Y/n,” You sighed. He won’t give up whatever this is. Fantastic. “Well actually, i’m supposed to be talking with famous people or something like that so I should get going,” You didn’t know how to get out of this situation. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him standing so close to you. This conversation gets more and more awkward everytime you speak. “Then why are you leaving?” You both stared at each other, surprisingly not awkwardly. It was comforting looking into his eyes. “What? “You know what, I actually should go before i’m late, i’ll see you later,” he gave you one last smile and patted your shoulder before leaving you. “But- Why? What?”

“I just had the most uncomfortable conversation of my life with this insanely perfect looking man,” you spoke almost out of breath, finally finding Julian in the crowd. “Yeah, i’m pretty sure I saw who you’re talking about when I left you,” Julian is such an old soul. He responded while looking ahead at the stage, almonds in one hand like a football dad. “Who’s performing next” “Uh, BTS.” You hardly listen to music these days. Music that doesn’t fit your ‘fuck life, love drugs’ aesthetic. BTS doesn’t ring a bell so you probably won’t like it but it’s not like you have anything else to do, you’ve had enough with weird interactions. “Remind me why we’re sober,” you sighed, starting to feel the pain from standing for so long. “I’m sober, you’re drunk.” Julian glanced at the margarita in your hand. Right, you almost forgot. “Oh, don’t judge-“ “Sh sh sh their coming.” He hit your shoulder a couple of time looking at the stage like a child. You hate when people tap on you it’s so annoying. You sighed for the one thousandth time and focused on the group of people coming to the stage. Asians, how convenient. You know if life really hated you they would be Korean just like- “Ey, isn’t that the ‘insanely perfect looking man’ you were talking about? I can’t tell.” You have got to be kidding. That’s why he asked why you were leaving. He’s fucking famous. “I need another drink,” You sighed.

#bts #fanfic #kpop #bts angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #kpop fanfic #bts fluff

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sinningismywinning · 5 years ago

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Do As You Please - 2

Stepping out onto the street made you question, which vicinity burned your throat more. Inside the congested, smoke-filled bar, or being outside next to the vomit that lined the pubs pavement. The motion of being pushed forward was enough to make your head spin. Thomas kept his hand politely on your lower back, to ensure you got through the crowd. He wasn’t necessarily man-handling you, but he didn’t treat you like fine porcelain china. Orange bulbs burned brightly outside of every building, you could almost hear the low buzz.

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it must have been late, since even the homeless beggars were finally resting. Tommy stayed quiet until you were about a block away from the Garrison. He didn’t know how to approach your situation.

Thomas Shelby wasn’t use to walking women home, unless he were to sleep with them. “Where do you live?” His low voice cut the silence, as he removed his hand from your back.

You had always tried your hardest to not walk home at night, especially without someone else in attendance. You were so occupied that morning with your thoughts on getting to the pub, that you never thought to consider how you’d be getting home safely. Maybe it was a good thing you had the encounter that you did.

Tommy wasn’t much of a conversationalist, especially to those that he didn’t know. “I still haven’t caught your name,” his head turned to you. “I’m starting to think you don’t have one,” he quipped. He had been asking you questions but you were too absorbed in your thoughts. Your head was pounding, and quite frankly, walking wasn’t helping.

“It’s Y/N,” God your feet hurt from these heels. “I live uh..” Fuck, how much did you have to drink? You had to stop walking. The motion was getting to you. “I live near Talcum Lane.” Your sentence was slow and hesitant.

“Aye, you’re not lying to me are you?” He questioned, no longer walking as well. You had no reason to lie, but your behavior obviously made him think otherwise. He didn’t want to intrude and ask too many personal questions, Mainly because he didn’t care, yet, he also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

You felt his eyes on you, and you turned to face him. The glow of a street lamp settled on his features. You were taking into account how sharp they were. Thomas, on the other-hand, was kicking himself for not knowing what he had gotten himself into. “No, I’m not lying, I just think I had too much to drink,” Were you drunk, or was your corset too tight? It was getting a bit harder to breathe, but why would you make that known?

His eyes didn’t leave you, and his absence of words didn’t help to comfort your thoughts. “Never seen you in Small Heath before,” now it sounded as if he was interrogating. “I would’ve remembered a face like yours.” His words carried no emotion, nor weight. Since you both had stopped walking, he paused to pull out a cigarette.

“I try to not go to the pubs, not safe, and I’m always at work. Never home,” you explained yourself. “Hm,” he rested a cigarette between his teeth. He dragged the end across his lower lip to moisten the filter. Seemed well-rehearsed. Maybe you were staring too much. You turned your head to evade accidentally catching his gaze.

“Where do you work?” He was too intrigued by you to not ask. “I work at the Tailor Shop 15 minutes West of the Garrison, nicest one in town.” it was low enough to be a mumble, but he heard you. “Tailor shop?” He huffed with a amusement. “What’s someone like you, doing at the Garrison, talking to my brother?” He said taking a drag.

“I went for the same reasons everyone else does. Stressful day at work.” You turned back to face him. “I can understand that,” It sounded as if your response had passed for his approval. You rolled your eyes, the alcohol wearing off minute by minute.

“Don’t worry about me being on your hands again,” you spoke starting to walk once more. Just because you felt awful about his shirt, that didn’t mean you’d let him get close enough to walk over you again. You barely knew this man, and now he’s taking you home! “Yeah? Why’s that?” He enjoyed this little game. Most women would get on their knees just from his reputation, you seemed to despise him. He liked it.

Thomas always wanted things that most people thought could never be his. He was taking more of an incline to you as the night progressed. “Because I won’t be caught dead in a scummy pub like that again,” you said making a turn down the street.

He finished off his smoke. He threw the bud onto the cobblestone, and crushed the ash under his shoe. He couldn’t help but let out an slick smile as he followed close behind. “What’s wrong with my bar?” his voice got dangerously deep.

That was a sentence you weren’t expecting, and damn did it gut you. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole. You wouldn’t have insulted the place if you knew he was the one who owned it. Now at this very moment, you didn’t know who held the most irony in their hands. Him, or you. He waited for the apology. The big ‘Oh dear, I didn’t know! Pardon me!’ Little did he know, he waited for the wrong thing.

“Everything’s wrong with it.” You decided to ignore your conscience. It’s not like you’d see him again after this. You were brutally honest, even when it wasn’t needed. “Your pub-hand wasn’t charging people correctly for bottles of booze. I saw him give away whiskey for 2 pence, not 5,” You said waiting for a reaction. You decided to keep going. “And another thing, when’s the last time you kicked people out for over-drinking and ill behavior? I saw at least three grown men sitting in their own vomit.” You stopped walking once again. Your mouth ran and ran.

Once again, that rare glimpse of a smirk made its way onto his face, but only momentarily. He put his hands into his coat pocket, fiddling with the watch that sat tucked away inside. How the hell did you understand alcohol prices? He could feel his pistol holstered beneath his coat. He opened his mouth to speak, but it took an additional second for something to come out. “Well, I kicked you out, didn’t I?” his grin fell short as he retorted back to you. It seems you’ve met your match. He nudged you on to keep walking with him.

“Well I didn’t-” you couldn’t defend yourself. “Your brother was the one who suggested me to go home, not you.” Your eyes met with his as you tried to defend yourself. “Yeah, after you spilled liquor on me.” He gestured to the stain of his white shirt. You felt bad. You really did.

He saw your face squint up for a moment. Your cheeks burned red. The longer the walk was, the more you were getting to know the stand-off pub owner. “I’m sorry,” it took a lot for you to say that. He just nodded in response. He wasn’t going to treat you differently.

If you could run your mouth, he’d just show you that he was better at it. A tense silence filled between you both. “Y/N’s a beautiful name,” he broke the space. “Thank you,” your voice was soft in response. Thomas knew to not involve himself with you. You were too naive, too passionate. He wouldn’t make you a quick-fuck either.

His mind went on and on about putting you against the side of your own building and tasting your lips. He loved women, he really did. “Do you enjoy working as a seamstress?” He questioned. You did say you needed a drink and didn’t resort to it unless stressed. He just wanted the gap of a walking distance to be filled with words.

You mindlessly shrugged, seeing your balcony from the upcoming street. You were close to home. “I fell in love with it, but the new owners changed that. I wanted to be a teacher at first, but things just get in the way,” you hummed. Money was what got in the way. He figured it best to not push it more.

Though he didn’t know you for anything, the thought of you interacting with kids seemed to click. You’d teach them to not take shit from anyone, and hopefully, that mindset wouldn’t get them killed.

A part of you wanted the walk to be longer. You found yourself growing comfortable in his silence. Was he a good listener? Or did he master the art of tuning people out? He walked you up the first steps to your home. You pursed your lips as you turned from your front door to face him. “Thank you Thomas,” you nodded with appreciation. He never got use to the formality of people calling him Thomas. He didn’t feel the need to correct you just yet. He figured there would be other times to do so, even though you intended of this being your last interaction with him.

He looked up at the sky. Dark clouds that encased over the stars, so the night wasn’t as bright. “No need to thank me,” praise always made him feel uncomfortable.

You found yourself looking at him for a little too long. The silence sank in between the both of you. There was a silent attraction. He felt it, and the only reason you picked up on it as well, was due to his bluntness. His head tilted back down to look at you. Your eyes glanced to his lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he spoke cordially. He took a step back, letting his eyes take you in. There was a lump in your throat. You broke the eye contact first with a small smile, and turned away from him to unlock your door. The moment you stepped inside you couldn’t help but go over the tense silence you just experienced, as you leaned on the closed door.

“Oi, fucks’ the matter with ya?” A voice spoke out angrily from your sofa. “Been fuckin’ stayin up worried about ya, and now is when ya decide to stroll on in? It’s four in the fucking morning Y/N!” your brother yelled standing up.

You walked past the man and went straight to your room. “I’m not a kid anymore, don’t fucking bother with it Alfie!” you yelled back slamming your door. You’d deal with him in the morning..

Alfie had many connections. Hopefully he could tell you more about the reputation of Thomas Shelby. Yet little did you know, he wasn’t notorious for the right reasons.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

#thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby #tommyshelby #peaky blinders #angst #slow burn #original character

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cognacdelights · 4 years ago

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ares, cyclops, achilles, lightning bolt, and underworld!

what’s a big pet peeve of yours?

i have lots of pet peeves. a lot of little, stupid things really annoy me which is probably something i need to work on, but one of them is (i’m not really sure how to describe it) like background noises? like, loud chewing, other people typing, the sound of ice clinking in a glass, the clock ticking, rain dripping, etc. i either need complete silence or purposeful noise. it’s why i’m constantly listening to music.

last time you cried?

yesterday! ok so, there’s this homeless man that’s basically well known around where i live called wellybob jim. he’s been homeless for like 30+ years, knows all my family, etc. so i saw him sat in the car park of the supermarket with his little trolley full of stuff he’s collected and his sleeping bag so i bought him a sandwich and a drink and was talking to him about stuff and he told me how he’s really struggling with stuff this year because of covid. he said nobody carries cash anymore and nobody goes near him because of social distancing so he’s finding it really hard to get enough money. he’s not the type of homeless man to beg and he never usually sits near big shops, most of the time people just give him money or food because of who he is and how well known he is in the area and it just kinda broke my heart? like he needs this more than ever right now and just the whole situation made me sad. he’s one of the nicest, politest and genuinely happy people i have ever met. even though he was sad about his situation, he wasn’t complaining.

have you ever had to be hospitalised?

once, for a really bad kidney infection. my old manager (god how much i hate that bitch) refused to let me go home from my shift and made me stack shelves, carry heavy boxes around the store and refused to let me take breaks to go to the toilet for eight hours so ended up in hospital. not relevant but i was the one who got fired for this :)

what are your top three favourite movies?

10 things i hate about you

clueless

grease

i love the classics, sue me.

describe your dream vacation?

i would love to visit somewhere like bali, the maldives or the seychelles. but i think the one thing that i really want to do if anything is go backpacking through central and south america. i watched the race across the world where they went from mexico city to ushuaia and it just looked so much fun. it was so pretty and there’s just so much culture that i’d love to experience.

send in questions for me to answer from here!

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tansypoisoning · 5 years ago

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What You Have (part three of “What You Need”)

Life as an unemployed, homeless wanderer was hard, until you met Captain America. Then it got worse.

Part 1 - Part 2

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Genres: Smut, Yandere, creepy shit

Ships: Steve RogersxReader

Relavant Characters: Reader (PoV), Steve Rogers

Universe: Post Civil War, canon compliant (except for the whole Steve losing his marbles thing)

Content Warnings: Dark!Steve Rogers, kidnapping, yandere, abuse

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Steve was already gone by the time you woke up. You knew he meant to leave that day, but you didn’t think you’d be so lucky as to not have to deal with him in the morning. You searched to whole house just to be safe, and he was nowhere to be found.

Maybe he had really left, maybe he walked out to do something and would be back in a second, or maybe it was a test of some kind; either way, you would take the time you had away from him to look for something that could breach the door (a blowtorch would do) and something to fend off wild animals (you were hoping for a bazooka). You spent the best part of three hours combing through every drawer and cupboard, looking under all the beds and behind all the furniture, and even hitting walls in search of hidden passages. If there was anything that could aid you in your escape, it was hidden in a place you couldn't get to.

Deep down you knew you were kidding yourself. Even if you could leave the building and had the guts to shoot a lion, you couldn't go back home by foot, and Steve had to have taken the jet. If you were to ever escape, you’d have to wait for him to come back.

You took a shower, your skin turning raw from the water temperature and your aggressive rubbing. Your reflection in the mirror barely looked like you, and one of your cheeks was swollen.

Breakfast was much the same as it had been yesterday, aside from the small bag of frozen berries in the back of the fridge that you ate in one sitting, and you spent most of your day watching the uninspired collection of DVDs, sometimes pausing to check the local channels or making sure you had looked everywhere for a possible means of escape (you had).

You avoided the pen and the blank piece of paper that had been left in the coffee table – the list Steve expected you to write.

What you wanted… What you truly wanted was to have your freedom back, but he wasn’t going to give you that. You weren’t sure what he was willing to give you, really. He implied you should tell him what you wanted from the time before he’d kidnapped you, but the truth was that you just wanted enough money to pay rent. You didn’t exactly have the brain space or time to dream about the future, what with all the job searching and panic attacks. Even if you figured out what all your dreams for the future were, none of them would include Steve.

Could you ask him to give you something that would let you get away from him? Internet access, a car and a force-field that repealed super humans? He said there wasn’t a right answer, but you suspected there were wrong ones. If you refused to make a choice, would he accept you wanted nothing from him or would he just choose for you? You didn’t want to think about it, so you didn’t. When he came back, you’d just tell him to return you to your former life. If he was going to make you miserable no matter what, you figured you might as well return the favor.

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Steve arrived the day after the next when you were heating your dinner and watching ‘National Treasure’ for the fourth. You didn’t even hear him coming in, whirling around when you heard your name being called behind you. He was standing by the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you.

“It’s nice to see you’ve been doing well while I was gone.” He said. You didn’t think his comment merited a response, so you didn’t reply.

Not one to let your obvious displeasure ruin his mood, he smiled wider and pointed at the microwave “I don’t presume you are making something for me too?”

“No.” You answered and moved to look at your food and watch it spinning round and round. You heard Steve jump over the counter and approach you. The sound of the movie was loud, but now that you knew he was there your senses were attuned to him and only him.

He touched your elbow, and your head twitched to the side in reflex. He leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. He didn’t attempt to delve his tongue in your mouth or make you return the gesture, and he pulled away once you began to shiver. There was still the same dopey, loving look in his eyes, and you turned back to the microwave so you wouldn’t have to keep seeing it.

Steve sighed and walked to the fridge. “Did you do what I asked?”

You acted like he wasn’t talking to you, like the most interesting thing in the world was the TV dinner spinning, and spinning, and spinning…

“Baby, did you write the list?” His voice raised “Did you think about what you want?”

The endless cycle of rotation of the spaghetti wasn’t the most interesting thing in the room, but it was the only one you wanted to acknowledge. It was making you dizzy-

There was a shuffling, metallic noise, then a kitchen knife embedded itself on the counter beside you, cracking the marble on its way. The microwave beeped, but you didn’t reach for the meal inside.

“Did you write the list?” Steve’s whisper was soft, deceptively so.

You squeaked out a ‘no’ and he inhaled deeply before letting go of the knife’s handle and moving away from you.

“I guess we’re staying in here a little longer.” He lamented “I really don’t want to do this, but if you don’t make some choices soon I’ll have to do it for you. You have to tell me what you want.”

Suddenly remembering what you had told yourself on your first day there without Steve, you pivoted on your heels and braced yourself against the counter for courage.

“I want to go home.” You said, watching as he turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed, and he was smiling, but you knew you had made him even angrier.

“Home? You don’t have a home.”

“My car.” You insisted “I want my life back. Take me back.”

Steve’s fingers poked through the packet of squash ravioli he had taken out of the freezer, and you inched closer to the kitchen knife that was still perched on the counter-top. How nice of him to leave it there for you…

“I know that’s not what you wanted.” He shook his head.

“It’s what I want now.” And it was true. You didn’t want much when you were living in your car, but now you longed for the life you had once loathed.

Steve huffed, looked away from you, tapped his feet, drummed his fingers on the fridge – moved like he was trying to remove himself from that moment. Like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Fine.” He said at last “I’m taking you back.”

“What?” You blurted out.

“After dinner.” He offered no further explanation and approached you, box still in hand “Aren’t you going to get your food?”

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The night air was cold, and standing on the rooftop in what amounted to pajamas wasn’t doing you any favors. A coat would be nice, but Steve hadn’t given you any, probably out of spite. He looked at ease in his full body suit, doing checks and double checks to make sure the jet was safe while you shook in your loose shorts. You didn’t know how much of that inspection was necessary.

The second trip was the exact opposite of the first: you didn’t sleep, Steve didn’t get you covers, and you shivered all the way through, but you were happy. You were going back! It felt too good to be true – several times you had considered the possibility of this being a lie, that he wasn’t taking you home at all, but why would he bother?

Hours of hopeful anticipation later, and you were landing in the very spot the jet had been when Steve took you. He had been honest, at least as far as taking you back went.

You jumped out of the vehicle as soon as the ramp was lowered enough to give you the room to slip through. You could feel Steve right behind you, but all thought about was running to your car. You found it easily, just where it had been left and unlocked, but you feared you wouldn’t be able to turn it on.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Steve asked as you were getting into the front seat. Spoken like he’d just asked you if you were sure you wanted to leave in the drizzle without an umbrella…

You frowned, nodded out of habit, and jammed the key in the ignition switch. The motor started easily, and you scrambled for the wheel to get out of there as fast as you could, just barely resisting the urge to ram your car into him (there was a high chance that things would turn out worse for you if you did.)

You looked at the man in your rear-view mirror, watched him get smaller and smaller as you ascended the slope. You couldn’t believe it. You had escaped? Just like that? It made no sense. Why would he take you and go to such extreme measure to keep you, then let you go after you insisted a couple of times? No way, there was no way…

Even after you were long gone and couldn't see Steve anymore, you remained suspicious. He had to be plotting something, but as you sped away from him and his jet the past three days started feeling more and more like a bad dream.

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Some people would say freedom smelled like clean air, others apple pie, and then some that would say that it smelled like cow shit. All wrong.

Freedom smelled like rejection.

Another job you didn’t get, another day of grinding wasted on people who wouldn’t hire you even to wipe their toilet, but that was fine by you. It had been five weeks since Steve returned you to your car, and you were still as glad to be back to your chaotic life as you were the first day. Captain America had taught you to appreciate your rotten situation, who would’ve thought?

You exited the building, smoothing a hand over your nicest pair of slacks, and made your way to the parking lot across the street. You fished for your keys on the way, finding them when you arrived at the spot you’d parked. You looked up and began laughing hysterically.

It was gone. It was fucking gone. Your car, which you had left right there, along with all you had – it was all gone, vanished, only an oil puddle left where your entire life had been less than an hour ago.

You dropped the keys, then to your knees, your giggles morphing into ugly wails. You didn’t know what to do next. If there was a way out of this plight you weren’t seeing it, and you didn’t feel like looking for it at the moment. You had nothing and none, and you were so consumed by grief you couldn’t think. Your emotional state inhibited all rational thoughts beyond the one that told you not to choke to death on your own tears.

A painful lump grew in your throat, and you brought your hands to your neck in hopes your fingers would make things better, but nothing could make things better – not your own touch, and not the one from the person that had approached you from behind and decided to grab your shoulder like an old friend. You had no true friends, old or new, so you turned around with a scowl to tell the weirdo to get off, but the words died in your throat when you saw him.

You should’ve known it would be Steve. None in their right mind would want you old beat up cart; it was falling apart. The only two reasons for someone to take it were to sell it for parts or to destroy your life, and he had stakes in one of these things.

You had been foolish enough to believe he had been serious. Were you so eager to escape you had allowed him to fool you, or had he been clear in his intentions and you just lied to yourself? Had your future been sealed from the moment Steve decided he wanted you?

His eyes were soft and his smile was comforting. You wanted to wipe his fake fucking face in the pavement, but all you could do was cry.

“Are you ready to be honest with me now?” He asked.

That was the end of the line. You had no way to run, nothing to warm and protect you at night. You could tell him to go to hell and maybe he’d go, but then what would be of you? You’d have your freedom, but without a place or a friend there was no telling how long that would last.

Better the devil you know.

You turned on your knees until you were facing him, then tugged on his hand. Steve pulled you to your feet, and his grin now barely concealed his self-satisfied glee.

“Yes.” You whispered in between sobs “Take me home.”

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A/N: This is just a transition chapter so it’s not very exciting. I’m planning on two more chapters, and part 4 should be the longest and take a while, but it’s going to have the highest density of smut so that’s nice.

#DENSE SMUT lol more like dense me #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!fic #MCU fanfiction #dark mcu fanfiction #mine #What You Need

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toprotectandscrve · 6 years ago

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Michael Henry’s NAILED! Question (and some Sentence) Starters

Episode 1

“ Show me your fingers! ”

“ What’s a cowlick and why is that the name for it? ”

“ Does your beard have a cowlick? ”

“ Someone’s last wish is to touch your penis: do you give them that gift? ”

“ I don’t want to insult you, but you’re kind of doing a terrible job on my nails. ”

“ Were you an early bloomer or a late bloomer? ”

“ Did you have sex when you were 25 or 13? ”

“ Do you like to gossip? ”

“ Do you ever feel insecure? ”

“ Boxers or briefs? ”

“ What’s the meanest thing someone said to you on the playground, and what was the nicest? ”

“ Do you have dreams at night? ”

“ I have the most wild dreams. ”

“ I had a dream last night that someone stole my wallet and broke my cell phone. ”

“ If you could look back on yourself in previous drunken blackouts, would you choose to do that? ”

“ Have you ever cried to get out of something? ”

“ Who is your doppelgänger? ”

“ Are you good at shouting? ”

“ What are your thoughts on cable or satellite television? ”

“ You don’t like being creeped out? ”

Episode 2

“ I enjoyed very little of where I was from. ”

“ What is your favorite thing to do when you’re alone? ”

“ I watch a lot of movies and I smoke a lot of pot. ”

“ Are you sexually active right now? ”

“ What do you think is the biggest mistake that you’ve ever made? ”

“ Have you ever had sex with someone that you’ve regretted? ”

“ Let’s say you were in a terrible accident: would you rather lose one inch or one ball? ”

“ If somebody was sexually attracted to you, and you were attracted to them already, and they offered you money to have sex with them anyway, would you take the money? ”

“ What is your biggest fear? ”

“ Are you afraid that you’re going to be stranded in the middle of a cruise ship that sinks? ”

“ Would you rather have a bug crawl out of your mouth or your penis hole? ”

“ Do you ever get jealous of other people? ”

“ I’m jealous of homeless men with full heads of hair. ”

“ Everybody puts their mouth on other people’s joints... but that’s germs. ”

“ Two straight guys will share a joint or cigarette, but they won’t kiss each other! ”

“ Have you ever gotten into a physical fight? ”

“ Have you ever stuck your finger where it didn’t belong? ”

“ Have you been stung by a bee? ”

“ Now we’re in my freakin’ dungeon. ”

“ I’m going to have nightmares about cockroaches coming out of my pee hole. ”

Episode 3

“ Where were you born and raised? ”

“ What is the most you would ever spend on a sandwich? ”

“ Would you say that you’re a tidy person or sloppy? ”

“ What’s the craziest thing you’ve done in your car? ”

“ Wait, do you like Justin Timberlake? ”

“ Have you ever had somebody decide that they didn’t want to be your friend anymore? ”

“ Why do you ask that? ”

“ Do you think you’re good at hitting on men? ”

“ Would you ever hit on a man in public in a non-gay arena? ”

“ I always think about how wrong everything could go. ”

“ Would you rather spend two years in a men’s prison or four in a women’s? ”

“ I honestly just don’t think my anus could take it. ”

“ When was the last time that you cried? ”

“ Have you ever cried in public? ”

“ Do you think that you’re good with money? ”

“ You wouldn’t believe how many times I overdraft. ”

“ Would you rather have an amazing meal or sex with an average looking person? ”

“ When you’re noticing a guy at the supermarket, what’s the first thing you notice? ”

“ Just be careful where you put that thumb, it is Friday night. ”

Episode 4

“ Do you like surprises? ”

“ I do like surprises, but they better be clean underwear. ”

“ Are you a slow eater or a quick eater? ”

“ I enjoy that full feeling. ”

“ If there’s one thing I know how to stretch out, it’s my stomach. ”

“ What is something that you’re obsessed with that none of your friends like? ”

“ How do you feel about PDA? ”

“ Do you like the lights out when you’re having sex? ”

“ Have your biggest dreams come true yet? ”

“ What upsets you? ”

“ What is the most enjoyable feeling? ”

“ I’m a vegan: man meat only. ”

Episode 5

“ Do you deal with stress easily? ”

“ Most problems in life can be solved with a joint or jerking off. ”

“ Have you ever ridden a motorcycle? ”

“ Do you like to take long walks? ”

“ Is variety the spice of life? ”

“ What is a lesson you think you’d like to share? ”

“ If a man tells you he’s impotent, what are your expectations? ”

“ Have you ever hooked up with a friend? ”

“ Do you prefer to cry alone or in public? ”

“ What’s the first thing that you think when you hear the word ‘raw’? ”

“ Have you ever faked an orgasm? ”

“ Do you think guys need to wash their hands after they pee? ”

“ I’d rather play mind games than videogames. ”

Episode 6

“ Have you ever heard of big hole energy? ”

“ Honestly, I’ll take any dick energy. ”

“ Do you think you know how to turn men on? ”

“ Have you ever given unsolicited advice? ”

“ If you could take back something, what would it be? ”

“ Can you death drop? ”

“ Would you sell your underwear for $100? ”

“ How do you handle setbacks in your personal and professional life? ”

“ What question do you hate being asked? ”

Bonus Ep.

“ What is your astrological sign? ”

“ Do you believe in ghosts? ”

“ Are you a night owl or an early bird? ”

“ Do you know how to change a flat tire? ”

“ What’s the biggest challenge that you’ve had to deal with? ”

#;starters #;memes #;my memes #rp sentence starters #rp meme #rp starters #writing prompts #roleplay meme #inbox meme #roleplay starters

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ftgage · 5 years ago

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*stumbles into the room w shades on & a margarita in one hand* beezus again...fair warning i just got back from chili’s & i’m tipsy cause my roommate spent like $100 on alcohol for me...a fcking king !

「 herman tommerass. cis male. 」have you seen gage rowland around yet? i hear he decided to be in AUDAX for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL JUSTICE major. the 21 year old SHEEP is known to be kindhearted, resourceful, dull witted and irresponsible. ➨ the muse is written by beezus. she is 21+, in est.

(this intro might be a mess but gage is an old muse of mine so i know him like the back of my hand i swear....& i haven’t fixed my theme yet so forgive me eep i’ll do that when i’m sober later)

trigger warning mentions of neglect, alcoholism, drugs, violence, homophobia

stats:

full name: gage michael rowland

nicknames: none (someone give him one)

date of birth: march 16th, 1999

age: 21

sexuality: homosexual

religion: agnostic

occupation: student/escort

likes: black eyeliner, socks w slides

dislikes: watching movies

tattoos: none

piercings: ears, nose, cartilage

backstory:

gage was born & raised in new york by a single mother. they didn’t really stay in one place they kinda lived everywhere in the area. hopping from home to home for a majority of his life. his mother has never had a stable career. she can go from being a waitress to a babysitter in like three days because she’s so quick to give up. she’s an irresponsible, lazy, struggling alcoholic and that’s all gage has ever known her as. he never met his dad but the man wasn’t any better. the two of them just weren’t fit to be parent’s and his mom unfortunately never stepped up after his dad walked out

before going to college he never had his own bedroom. they could only ever afford shitty, run down, one bedroom apartments and his mom would shove him onto the couch so she could have men over whenever she wanted. he didn’t mind much because he had a really old xbox that he’d play until he was so exhausted he just passed out. that was his nightly routine throughout middle & high school

his mom wasn’t abusive...she’s a very loving women & cares about gage when she really needs to but for the most part he was on his own growing up. sometimes when they were in between homes he’d have to hunt down friends & sleep on their couches. he was only nine the first time they were homeless. she hardly spent money on him so he had the same wardrobe all through out elementary school despite growing out of it. they also never had food in the house so he’d work for free at local deli’s...like sweeping their floors & stuff & they would throw him some food ! if it weren’t for kind neighbors he wouldn’t have eaten

when he was a kid he got bullied pretty harshly for being poor. like...these kids would steal the shirt off his back & laugh because they knew he didn’t have another one. he grew up in a pretty bad neighborhood :/ when he got a little older...probably around thirteen he started to come to terms with his sexuality & he didn’t feel the need to hide it at all ? he was a happy, bubbly kid that was comfortable in his skin. but there was a lot of homophobia in his neighborhood & they didn’t take too kindly to him. he got beat up pretty severely & it happened often. partly because he had a big mouth but mostly because they didn’t like how flamboyant he was.

flash forward to when he was fifteen & he started experimenting with sex. he met this older guy in his neighborhood that took a liking to him (this guy was like forty-five ew) & they started hanging out a lot. after knowing each other for a few months the guy asked gage if he would meet up with one of his friends & gage being the innocent babe he was just said ok ! so he meets up w this guy & long story short this guy got him into being an escort...at only fifteen :/

he’s been working as an escort ever since & it’s done a lot of good for him ! he was v v popular & was getting paid like 10k for dates back in new york. he saved up money for a few years while he was in high school & eventually made enough to buy his mom a house (not that she deserved it). even though his childhood was shitty he’ll always love her...he’s away at school now but still sends her as much money as he can so that she doesn’t have to work. he’s such a giver & takes care of the people he loves...even when they don’t take care of him *cries*. business is slower while he’s at school but he still makes enough money to pay his tuition & support his mom. he doesn’t spend much money on himself because he already feels like he’s kinda selfish just for going to school

he’s a criminal justice major because he wants to be a probation officer one day ! he wants to be the nicest most lenient probation officer he can be...& he wants to be able to get his homies off the hook that’s his mentality w it. he’s a sheep as well because....he’s not smart enough for that app

personality:

such a sweet fucking boy i swear. not only does he take care of his not so great mother but he’s also big on taking care of his friends. the type of guy to give a drunk girl his shoes, pay for everyone’s hangover meals, pay for all the ubers....he really milks himself dry for other people honestly

he’s really gullible & kinda dumb. will say yes to just about anything, doesn’t know how to use a microwave without burning something, can’t follow instructions for shit either

i’m sure he has to go through A LOT of tutoring to keep his grades up to par but he really does try his best *gives him a gold star*

he has a really bad habit of letting people use & abuse him. like there’s been plenty of times where he’s gone to meetup with someone that was suppose to pay him but instead they just...had their way with him & hauled ass & yea it makes him feel like shit but he tries not to let it get to him :/

when he was six yrs old he told his mom that one day he would own all the legos in the world & she called it stupid so now he has a collection of legos ! i’m proud of him :) he has a lego house that he built when he was twelve & he keeps a couple grand stashed in it for a rainy day...& if someone were to steal it he wouldn’t care about the money he’d just be sad that they broke his lego house :(

appearance wise he always looks pretty disheveled, might smell a little bad because he’ll buy a shirt from the thrift store & not wash it, he never spends a lot of money on stuff for himself. the nicest clothing items he owns are things that sugar daddies have bought him & he only wears them on dates

he does a lot of expensive drugs & drinks a lot of expensive alcohol because it’s given to him & he doesn’t know how to say no

he looks tired & worn out all the time because he 100% is but tries to keep a smile on his face anyway...if you ask him how he’s doing he’ll always say he’s doing well because tbh compared to how his life was as a child he kinda is ? he’s not hungry anymore, not struggling financially, putting himself through school...i love him

he’s gay but doesn’t exclusively sleep w men. he has just as many sugar mamas as he does daddies. older women really love him ! he’s young, pretty & dumb...again he’s a giver so he’ll give head to just about anyone

he does an unhealthy amount of cocaine which explains why he’s so awake & talkative all the time. it’s offered to him so he takes it ? someone stop him. he see’s a lot of men that will pump him w drugs just to take advantage of him & he knows it the back of his mind that it’s happening but the money & the buzz is too good

ending this like an essay because i’m drunk at this point omfg so in conclusion gage is a sweet boy w a big heart that get’s kicked around for no good reason love him

#tw drugs #tw alcoholism #tw violence #tw homophobia #nothing detailed #this got messier as i typed because i cant feel my fingers or my brain #intro

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gingers-writing-blog · 5 years ago

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New York Bound

Chapter 2

Triggers: Swearing, Stealing, Descriptions of Violence

New Words: Toff - Rich person (generally disliked by the newsies), peelers/bobbies - police, hawk - to sell

Word Count: 3,277

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"C'mon Cat! Let's get outta here!" Tommy shouted over to me from a little way down the street. I slammed the gates shut and threaded the thick chain through the bars.

"Have fun with that Dan!" I said sarcastically; lockin' the heavy padlock with a hairpin I found in the Lodging House, I smirked at him. It's the least I could do since they seem hell-bent on makin' my newsies' lives miserable...

He scowled and slammed his hands on the bars, they shook loudly and a few drops of water fell on him.

I laughed at him as I turned on my heels and we ran as fast as we dared down the cobbled streets and through the Saturday markets. We dodged through crowds and through street vendors.

"Cat! Peeler!" I heard Tommy shout from a little way in front of me. I looked to where I heard his voice, and sure enough, Officer Wilson was doin' his rounds of the market. I had about a second before he saw me.

I ducked down and crawled under a stall. I felt the water from the puddle under me soak into my trousers at the knees. Great, those will be dry by next week...

That man has arrested me more times than I can remember, but I've only ever been taken to jail once. He had a very long-standin' grudge against my parents and for some reason, he took it up with me when they...

Anyways, he takes it out on my by findin' stupid reasons to arrest me! But they've never found a legitimate reason to send me to jail, well other than that first time...So most of the times I just get fined and sent on my way. It's annoyin' at best, downright fucked up at worst. Oh well!

"Oi kid! Get out from under there! Before I get the peelers on ya!" The stall owner kicked and hissed at me. I scrabbled past her feet to get out from under the stall and I dragged my papers with me.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who kicked me.

"Ya wouldn't get the bobbies on me would ya, Miss Hannah?" I flashed her a smile as I got to my feet and brushed myself off. She laughed, shook her head and put a hand on her chest.

"Oh Cat! Ya didn't half give me a turn kid! I'm so sorry for kickin' ya hon!" She gave me a quick once-over to check that I was ok, then patted me on the shoulder.

Miss Hannah owns a fresh fruit and veg stall in the Saturday markets. She's been there for as long as I can remember and she looked after me for a bit, when I was homeless for a few weeks. I was much younger then and I couldn't fend for myself.

She's a large woman, she wears a simple, slightly dirty brown dress with a faded reddish-brown shawl coverin' her shoulders and chest. Her mousey brown hair was always loose around her shoulders and she always keeps a strip of red cloth tied in a bow around her right wrist, no one really knows why...

She's more like my mother that I remember my real mother to be after...that... Anyways, we always look after each other and I owe her my life since she saved mine.

"Miss Hannah! I'm fine! I'm fine! But I appreciate your concern." We laughed and hugged quickly. She turned back to her stall as she heard a small boy clear his throat impatiently to get her attention. Disrespectful little shit! I was about to put that kid in his place, but Miss Hannah put the back of her hand on my chest firmly to stop me. She turned to the boy, he was a bloody toff too!

"So, who ya hidin' from ey Cat?" She asked, handin' change over to the small boy.

"No one!" I said, placin' my hand over my heart and fakin' offence. "Me and Tommy Boy just pissed off the Jordan brothers and I need to sell my papers." I held up my stack.

"What's the headline today?" She asked, I lifted my papers up and checked out the front page.

"Fire in Tower Hamlets kills 17 people."

"That's awful!" Miss Hannah asked, searchin' through the small sack of money on her table.

Us newsies very rarely shouted headlines that were actually true, but when there's somethin' vaguely interesting, we exploit it like hell. We just work with what the publishers give us...But today was one of the rare occasions where they actually gave us somethin' good.

"That's where my old man is. I'll take one. Here." Miss Hannah's father, Old Man Maguire, lives in Tower Hamlets and she sends his money to help him get along. She handed me a three pence piece she got from the bag and I handed it straight back to her. She can't afford to spare 3p. She just shoved it back in my hand and took a paper.

"No refunds." Miss Hannah chuckled and I put the coin in my pocket.

"Fine...but that's what I'm supposed to say!" I said. She shook her head and served another customer.

While Miss Hannah was occupied, I looked around to try and find Tommy. I couldn't see him anywhere, then he came runnin' up behind me clutchin' the string around his papers.

"There ya are! I couldn't find ya! I thought Wilson had ya for a sec!" He bear-hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

"G'mornin' Miss Hannah!" He reached out, held her hand and kissed the back of it. Miss Hannah and I laughed at him, Tommy has always been a gentleman, a very lovable gentleman, unlike the bloody toffs...

"Good mornin' Tommy Boy!" She replied with a smile. "Right...you two'd better start sellin' ya papers!"

"Oh yeah...! Thanks for the threepence piece Miss Hannah, and we'd love to stay and chat, but ya right, we gotta go." I looked around and saw that Officer Wilson was comin' much closer now. I also saw Smalls on the other side of the market, I nodded to her and gave her a look.

She got the message. She ran up to him and offered him a paper. She was buyin' us time to get outta there, also this is her sellin' spot and it's not right to steal someone's spot. It's also against the rules of our Lodgin' House.

But everyone knows Miss Hannah is like my mother and she's the exception to the whole sellin' spot thing!

I looked over at where Smalls was annoyin' Officer Wilson. She had almost annoyed him enough for him to bugger off! After another minute or so, Wilson threatened to arrest Smalls and he turned around and walked away. He looked so pissed off! Success!

With Wilson gone, the coast was clear and we could make our escape. I have Miss Hannah a quick hug and we ran off back through the market.

We ran past a bakery stall on our way through and as we did, Tommy stole a couple of bread rolls. I glanced back at the stall owner to just make sure he didn't see Tommy Boy steal the bread.

I'm pretty sure he didn't and I couldn't hear any shouts, although the market is usually very loud with all the people hagglin' for the best price!

We got clear of the market and we were out in the street. We stopped runnin' and Tommy held up the rolls proudly.

He had that grin on his face that always made me remember why I loved him. Even when he stole things...

"Really!?" I laughed and he grinned back.

"Have you eaten yet today?" He asked. I couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or genuine concern in his voice...so I went with both!

"No..." I rolled my eyes and took one out of his hand. I didn't think stealin' was right...but I couldn't argue with it in certain situations. I haven't stolen anythin' since I was seven, that's when I became a Newsie, and even now I still don't encourage it...

We bit into the rolls at the same time and Tommy winked at me. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

The rolls had small seeds in them and they were still fresh, sweet and hot! We ate them quickly and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone come round the corner of the bank. I turned my head subtly and saw someone else come round the corner.

"Tommy..." I whispered. "Who's comin' round the corner behind me...?" I was worried that they might be people linked to my parents. Or they could just be a couple of thieves who didn't know the market had better targets...You could never be too careful, especially with fewer people around...

Tommy looked over my shoulder as discreetly as he could.

"I'm not sure..." He whispered back. "We should go, just to be safe..." I nodded and shifted my papers to my right arm. I held Tommy's hand and we crossed the street, bein' careful to not get hit by motorcars and horse-drawn carriages as we went.

~ Meanwhile ~

If anyone who actually cared had been around the back alleys of Lambeth, they would've heard the angry shouts of three men as they punched, kicked and fought tooth and nail.

"Get the fuck offa me, Joey! Switch will hear about this you vicious two-faced pricks!" The boy yelled, his American accent coming through strong.

"Oh, do you hear that Dan? Switch will hear of this!" The man turned to his brother, and after a few seconds, they just shrugged in unison.

Both men got uncomfortably close to the beaten and bloody boy, who was in a heap on the floor. His nose had been broken, he was covered in blood and there were cuts and bruises all over his sleeveless arms - and no doubt, the rest of his body. His dirty blond hair flopped in front of his eyes, but he didn't have the energy or strength to flick it away.

"We don't care. We're paid to bring you in and we're gonna bring you in, even if it's the last thing we do...Joey, cuff him. He's finished."

While Joey cuffed the boy, Dan waved his hand into the street and signalled to the van, which was parked a few streets down.

The van drove up and parked up next to the where the fight had taken place, by that time, the boy had been cuffed and was in no fit state to run away.

He was hauled up off the floor and tossed into the back of the van like a sack of potatoes on market day.

"Enjoy the Workhouse, Roger." The doors slammed in his face and the van moved off.

~ Back in Westminster with Cat and Tommy Boy ~

"Ayyy! Get outta the bloody road!" An angry carriage driver yelled at us as we crossed the street.

"Ahh, London...The nicest place on earth!" I commented, sarcastically.

We continued weavin' down the streets to our sellin' spots, talkin' about everythin' and nothing. When we got to the Victoria Tower Gardens - next to the River Thames and opposite Lambeth - we hopped over the stupid little fence and stepped right over the 'Do not walk on the grass' sign.

~ Meanwhile ~

" Ya fuckin' bastards! Get offa me!" I yelled. I was shoved violently from behind and fell flat on my face. My face was pressed into the pavement hard and Joey Jordan put his foot on my head. I tried to lift my arms to get him off and get meself up, but my hands were cuffed behind me...

I struggled and wriggled on the floor, but all that got me was a strong kick to the face. I felt somethin' in my nose crack and blood come drippin' out. Shit that was painful! But that was almost nothin' compared to what was gonna come.

Joey lifted his foot up from my head and yanked my arms up so I was standin'. He then linked one of his arms in the gap between my back and my arms, that were still cuffed together. He put his other hand on my right shoulder.

Then Dan punched me in the stomach really fast. I swear those guys is boxers or somethin'. Either way, all of the breath was knocked out of me, I tried to double over, but I couldn't cause of Joey holdin' me.

Dan landed another punch on my stomach, then my face, then my stomach again. I coughed a few times and drew in a ragged breath. I tried to call out for help, but I still couldn't breathe.

I squirmed around and tried to free meself again.

"Stop movin'...Or I'll have your guts for garters..." Joey hissed threateningly in my ear. I stopped. I was paralysed with fear. Not with what he said, but by what Dan had just taken out of his pocket...

"Hmmm...which one should I use? The knife?" It glinted threateningly in the sun that managed to get into the alley. "Or the brass knuckles?" He slipped them on his right hand and made a fist. I braced meself.

"Let's save the knife for the murderers' daughter."

"Good idea...then we can really show her a piece of our minds after what she did to us!" Dan got right into my face as he said that.

Cat! You'se in danger! I pray ya make it out 'live...

Dan's punches were so much harder and more painful with the brass knuckles on, and when he'd finished with me, I was so weak I could barely stand.

They literally dragged me out into the street and threw me into what I guessed was the back of a van. The last thing I remember was seeing the Workhouse loom ahead of me, going over a pothole in the road and from there on...nothing. Everything was black.

~ Back with Cat and Tommy Boy ~

The sun shone down through the leaves on the trees as Tommy and I strolled through the park.

We both kept an eye out for the crabby old park keeper, but his uniform is green - which is really ugly by the way - and he kinda blends into the grass...

"Nice day today, ain't it?" I asked as we sat down under a tree, with our backs against the trunk.

"Yeah...'s beautiful! Just like you..." He leant over and kissed my cheek. I threaded my fingers through his and smiled up at him.

I had sat down further away from the trunk, so I was leanin' down further and I ended up below him; I'm actually half an inch taller than him and I never let him forget it...but I didn't feel like it today...the day was too nice to ruin...

"I love you too." We sighed in unison and sat there, takin' in the views...

Until the peace and quiet of the moment were shattered, when the crabby old park keeper grabbed Tommy's collar and hauled him to his feet.

I stood up quickly, in case the Jordan brothers had chased us this far.

"How many times do I have to tell you kids to keep off the bloody grass?!" He shouted, a few people, mostly rich folk, turned their heads to look over at us.

"Yes...We're very sorry, Mr Walker, it won't happen again, sir..." Tommy said. Mr Walker thought for a while, decidin' whether or not he's gonna trust us...

Eventually, he let go of Tommy's collar.

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"Hmmm, I'd better not catch you two here again." We both nodded.

"You won't sir..." Tommy took a few steps back as the old man turned around and started to make his way back to his favourite bench.

"In your dreams!" I whispered, albeit a bit too loudly. Tommy Boy elbowed me in the side in an attempt to stop me laughing, but it didn't work, and unfortunately, Mr Walker heard me.

He turned back to us, absolutely furious. His face was bright red - he was very easy to piss off - and he glared at us. I stopped laughin' and backed away from him, tuggin' Tommy's arm.

He made a grab for me and Tommy Boy yelled to run.

I turned tail and ran away. I ran through the park, my papers still under my arm. I stopped when I realised Mr Walker had given up chasin' us both and looked around for Tommy Boy.

"Tommy! Tommy!" I called out when I became aware of the fact I couldn't see him anywhere. "Tommy!" I ran over to a large oak tree and suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around my waist from behind. I tensed up, preparin' for the worst.

"Hey, babe!" I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tommy!" I detached myself and whacked his arm, pretendin' to be angry with him, which almost never happens. I tried to keep a straight face, but I just couldn't and he knew it.

We both burst out laughin' and we couldn't stop. We laughed and laughed until we practically collapsed on the grass behind the tree, somewhere we didn't think Mr Walker could see us.

"Do you see his bloody face!" I wheezed.

"Redder than a tomato in the sun..." Tommy sighed. I opened my mouth to sat something, then Big Ben across the river tolled 8 times.

"We should go, it's 8 o'clock."

"Yea, let's go." He took my hand and we made our way back to the pavement on Millbank, makin' sure we didn't run into Mr. Walker.

"Where are you sellin' today? Normal spot?" I asked.

"Yep, I'm goin' by Westminster Abbey." I nodded, checked the street for any traffic and we crossed over.

"I'm goin' over by the docks, so I'm actually goin' the wrong way!" I laughed and Tommy smiled.

"Ok," We stopped walkin' and stepped closer to the buildin' so we didn't get trampled by busy people rushin' to get to wherever they needed to do...They were also the people we had to sell our papers, so we had better get going!

"Let's split up here, meet you at the café on Romney Street at midday?"

"Yep, noon it is. See you and good sellin'."

"Good sellin'." He smiled and looked at me the way only he does, before plantin' a quick kiss on my cheek and turnin' to walk away. He glanced back at me and I waved his goodbye.

God, I love him. So. Freaking. Much.

I walked back to the docks and began to hawk my papers.

I got up on an empty upside-down wooden produce box surrounded by green bottles.

Dockworkers came up in waves to buy papers and I had to shove some of them offa me when they got a bit drunk and handsy. I also had to move places a couple of times.

I waved over to where Switch was sellin' on his side of the river, over in Lambeth. He didn't wave back, smile or look like he was managin' to sell papers; probably because he had a face o' thunder.

Then a kid I recognised from Lambeth ran up to me and I jumped down off my box.

"Cat?" He asked.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, slightly suspiciously.

"Switch has called an emergency ally meetin' in his Lodging House. Now." I gave the kid one of my pennies and he ran off.

"This can't be good." I thought as I made my way over to Lambeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you liked it! Please vote, reblog and have a super day!

#newsies fanfiction #newsies #gingers-writing-blog #tommy boy newsies #tommy boy #new york bound chapter 2

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monicaganosschool-blog · 5 years ago

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Personal Investigation

(1) What is a defining moment in your life and how did it impact you?

A defining moment in my life was when I decided to be a part of the DVC program at UWM. After my first year and a half of school, I was going through a lot. I was struggling to keep my head above water in many ways. I had previously been in school for psychology, which was not working out well for me. I planned on taking the next semester, or year, off. Instead of giving in to the temptation I decided to change my major completely to DVC. Although I still struggle, being a part of something that I truly enjoy doing has been the whole reason that I am even in school anymore.

(2) What is something new you recently tried and loved?

Something new that I recently tried and loved is vegetarian cuisine! Although I am not personally on a vegetarian diet, my sister recently became one. She is always giving me new food to try, much of which I did not think I would enjoy. It surprises me how many brands can develop foods that taste so similar to meat, such as TVP. I am always trying to find ways to add new foods into my diet.

(3) What makes you lose track of time?

I often lose track of time when I am painting. I have a non-representational, generative style that allows me to absorb myself into what I am creating. It is a very freeing and stress-relieving process for me.

Let Go

(1)Be fearless! What would you do if you were not afraid?

Bungee jumping. I am terrified to do it but I feel like it would be absolutely amazing.

(2) Where have you found peace? What advice would you give another student on how to manage stress?

I have found peace in taking time I need to relax and not feeling bad about it. I have been trying to focus on improving my mental health over the past year and have found that sometimes I need to take a day to not think about school or work and simply relax. It has helped me in the long run to manage my stress greatly. Before I started taking these “personal days,” I was constantly stressed and now I can focus my stress into being more productive.

(3) What did you learn from your biggest regret? In other words, how did you transform failure into a positive?

Personally my biggest regret was letting the opinion of other people dictate what I did for a lot of my teenage life. When I first came to UWM I was always concerned about the opinion of others. This lead to me mentally not in a good place. I have thought about that time in my life and used it to help me move on from what others think. Now, I am happy (most of the time) and I allow myself to focus on much more important things than what other people think of me.

Humility

Humility is the quality of being humble and is an asset for self-improvement and inner well-being. Some of the ways humility is experienced is by putting the needs of another person before your own, thinking of others before yourself, not drawing attention to yourself, acknowledging that you are not always right, and recognizing the areas of your life that need work. Becoming frustrated and angry at losses come with any struggle in life, so it's important we understand humility to become a better person.

(1)What is one of the kindest things someone has ever done for you? that you have done for someone?

I try to focus on something nice that someone does for me on a day-to-day basis. I couldn’t name the ‘nicest’ thing someone has done for me, but I can rattle off a few things. For example, I would consider it a kind thing if one of my friends pays for my tab at the end of a night, or if I am trying to cross a street and four cars going flying by right in front of me, but the fifth car stops so that I can safely cross the road. I try to focus on these things because it ultimately leads me to live a happier life.

(2) Describe a moment in your life where you experienced humility. What were key take-a-ways?

A moment in my life when I experienced humility is when I was leaving the Goodwill on Capital Drive when a homeless man approached my car. It was the summer so my window was down, and unsurprisingly he came up and asked me for money. I told him that I did not have anything with me except for some pennies that had been sitting in the side of my car door for about three years. Without hesitation he smiled and said, “Every little bit helps ma’am.” I was so humbled in this moment and felt very lucky to have what I do have. He was so glad to take a handful of pennies from me, when they were something that I forgot I even had.

(3) What are you passionate about and want to spend more time doing?

I am very passionate about helping people in need, but I have not had the time to volunteer in years. I used to go all the time but I have been so caught up with school and working that I almost forgot about how much I love it. I have been planning on finding some sort of program that I can help out with over the summer when I am not so stressed out.

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 6 years ago

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Big God, part 1

Here it is. This is a Catradora Superhero AU.

This story contains Graphic Violence and Copious Amounts of Angst. Please bear that in mind. The chapter titles are taken from songs on the Into The Spiderverse soundtrack.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638580/chapters/41591732

Summary: Catra is totally on top of her life. She's got a successful business, loyal employees, a nice car, and a woman she loves more than anything. It's great. Life is great. There's just one problem. One massive, glowing, eight foot tall problem with a sword that keeps butting into things that aren't her business!

~~~Part 1: Hide

Mismatched eyes open slowly, blinking from the sunlight streaming into the room. Catra grunts drowsily and moves to put a hand over her face. Her shift causes the naked arm resting across her waist to tighten reflexively. Catra’s other hand runs light fingers over smooth, pale skin, teasing a sleepy sigh from the woman next to her.

“That tickles,” Adora says, the words muffled against the pillow. Catra smirks, increasing the speed of her caresses. It gets exactly the response she expects. “Noooo,” the blonde whines, pulling Catra back against her chest with her powerful arms, pressing her forehead against Catra’s neck. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean,” Catra retorts, grinning while Adora can’t see her face. “It’s not my fault you’re more ticklish than a baby monkey.”

“How dare you use my one weakness against me? Dastardly,” Adora says, nuzzling her shoulder.

“One weakness?” Catra scoffs playfully. “I seem to recall you having quite a few weaknesses just last night.” She carefully turns over to look at her lover, pressing her hand over a perky breast. “Like when I used my tongue to---" She receives a light smack as Adora rolls away from her.

“That’s just because you’re really good at it,” Adora says in self-defense, but Catra can see the pink tinge in her cheeks even from this angle.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, babe,” she says as she stretches and begrudgingly sits up. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and glances about.

Adora always keeps their tiny bedroom organized and clean, making sure everything is in its “proper” place. Catra doesn’t give a shit one way or the other, but she supposes it’s easier to find clean underwear now. She gets up to do just that, while on the other side of the bed Adora is typing something on her phone while she tries to put panties on with one hand.

“Do you have to go in early today?” Catra asks as she reaches into a drawer for a bra.

“Yeah,” Adora says, sending her message and setting her phone on the bed. “Remember I told you we’re starting those morning classes this month?” Adora works at a large gym in downtown Bright Moon as a martial arts instructor and personal trainer, teaching people of all ages and types to do push-ups and throw a half-way decent punch. She’s good at it, makes decent money too, but her schedule changes with the whims of her clients. Catra doesn’t have to worry about that so much, but her own work often means that she comes and goes at odd hours. It can be difficult to plan around, but she thinks they manage it alright, all things considered.

“Are you still pairing up with that short girl? What’s her name, Shimmer?”

“Glimmer,” Adora corrects with an indulgent grin. “And yes, she’s going to be my assistant instructor. For a girl who barely breaks 4’9”, she can knock your ass through a wall. I’ve seen it happen so don’t test her. Right now, we’re mostly gauging interest, seeing how many people show up, so this class might end really early if no one shows. Then I’ll be free until 1. You sure you’ll be too busy at the club to grab lunch?”

Catra shrugs. “If we weren’t hosting that big party for the mayor tonight, I’d say it’d be fine, but there’s a lot of set-up that still needs to be done, and if I’m not there to kick butts into gear it never will be.”

Her girlfriend makes a pouty noise, but kisses her on the cheek as she passes by going to the bathroom. Catra follows her, wrapping her arms around Adora’s waist and breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “You still good to be my arm candy tonight? I can’t wait to show you off to all the jealous plebs in this city.”

Adora rolls her eyes, but grins. “Yes, I’ll be your Plus 1. I shouldn’t be at work any later than 5, so I should have enough time to get ready before 8.”

Catra smiles and nips her shoulder gently. “Are you going to wear that red dress?” She runs a lusty hand down Adora’s back and over the curve of her ass.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Adora teases. “And I might never decide if I can’t even brush my teeth this morning, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Catra snickers but steps away. She’s got her own teeth to brush after all.

Adora makes sure she’s combed out her hair and has a packed lunch before she leaves the house. Catra feels a bit like a little kid when she does this, but then again, her own mother had never done anything like this, so she supposes it’s just making up for lost time. Adora knows how to make her favorite sandwich, which also helps.

They part ways with a sweet kiss before Adora walks to her bus stop and Catra makes her way to the shiny black Cadillac parked next to their building, driving in the opposite direction. She phones her main man at her club, Half-Moon.

“Mornin’ boss,” he greets her. “Shop’s still getting set up here, but we’ll be plenty ready for tonight.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Be sure to check all the cameras and table bugs, make extra certain they’re not noticeable. We cannot have the mayor’s people finding them before we get the dirt, you got me?”

“Loud and clear, boss. They’ll be damn near invisible when we’re done.”

“Good. I’m heading to Fright Zone now. Call me if there are any problems.” She hangs up and sets her phone in the cupholder. She maneuvers her ride through the busy morning traffic of Bright Moon’s New East Side, moving away from chic, modern apartments and coffee shops and towards faded brick, broken windows, and graffiti. A tourist stopping in Bright Moon would be treated to all the pretty parks and department stores of downtown, and all the theater shows, museums, and concerts on the North Side. They’d never have reason to venture off from their segue tours and come to this part of the city, where they could glimpse the ugly blemish hiding just behind the city’s pretty façade. They wouldn’t see tenement buildings on the verge of collapse, overcrowded and underheated. They wouldn’t see the gang signs painted on every bare surface and even on top of each other. They wouldn’t see the orphans, the runaways, the dealers, the addicts, the homeless, and the sick coming out of the brickwork to try and face another day. No, they would never see any of that, and wouldn’t care enough to try.

But Catra drives down roads that are very familiar, past managers of shoddy convenience stores and teenagers loitering on the sidewalk. Everyone in this town knows when she’s riding through, and they nod respectfully at her car it goes by. She drives until she reaches her destination, the nicest-looking building in the Old East Side, which isn’t saying much.

Fright Zone is a bar and sometimes nightclub, the second club that Catra owns and the one where she conducts her real business. Half-Moon is the side of her operations that she displays to the public, hence its name, but Fright Zone is really where she spends most of her time. The parking lot is empty save for two black SUVs and a van, all without license plates or obvious identifying features. She parks next to them and gets out, throwing on a pair of shades as she walks to the entrance. Two of her guards greet her there, opening the doors for her.

The inside of Fright Zone is nothing extravagant, unlike Half-Moon, but it’s good enough for gangsters and that’s all she needs. She strolls past her soldiers sitting at the bar and scattered tables, and they salute her.

Scorpia is leaning against the door to her office when she reaches it. She smiles brightly at Catra. “Good morning, boss!”

“Scorpia,” Catra says, businesslike, but she can’t help her small grin. It’s hard to be super serious around Scorpia. They’ve been working together for years now and Catra has learned to go with the flow of her lieutenant’s naturally cheerful attitude. “Do you have a team for me?”

“You bet!” Scorpia says, following Catra into her office and shutting the door behind her. When Catra bought Fright Zone and had it refurbished, she’d allowed herself small luxuries in her personal workspace. Nice carpet, ebony desk, some art on the walls; just enough to make it feel like her own. She takes a seat behind her very nice ebony desk and opens the file that Scorpia places in front of her. “They’re ready for real action, Catra. They won’t disappoint.”

“Thanks, Scorpia, do me a favor and send them to me when they get here. Until then, go check with ‘Trapta that our gear is good to go.”

“You got it!” Scorpia waves goodbye on her way out, leaving Catra to the peaceful quiet. She takes the file and starts skimming through it, going over performance records and a list of training milestones, making her notes on a small pad of paper. She texts her barkeep to bring her a drink as she reads.

It’s 9:30am when there’s a knock on her door. Three people step inside, three kids each about 5 years younger than Catra herself. The first is a girl with dark skin---a few shades more than her own---and short dreds paired with an undercut. She’s lean, but makes up for lack of fat with muscles, and she walks like she’s marching off to war. The second is a small, lanky boy, pale and freckled with blonde hair that flies in every direction. The last is a hulk of a kid with shoulders and biceps as big as his head and the hands to match. His eyes are green as grass and his mouth is marred by a two-inch long slash across his lips.

They file in side by side and they salute her. “Captain Scorpia said you wanted to see us, boss?” The girl asks, standing ruler straight and meeting Catra’s eyes, unafraid.

She smiles to see it. Her mother, the old boss, would have had the girl punished for disrespect, but Catra prefers that her people have some backbone. “I do. Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, Scorpia has been telling me about how your team has performed in training. You’ve received high scores in your simulations and physical tests, and she’s highlighted your strong team dynamic.” She indicates their file on her desk. “She tells me you’re ready to try the real thing.”

She can see the flash of excitement in their eyes, giddiness and pride. Unlike her mother, Catra doesn’t withhold praise when it’s deserved, and her people are happier for it.

“You mean a real assignment?!” Lonnie blurts out before shutting her mouth with a loud click. “I-I mean, Captain Scorpia thinks we’re ready for it?”

“She does. I asked for a competent team to join me on an important job today, one that will help some of our future operations run smoother, and you were her top pick.” She sips her drink and regards the three of them. She’s a little concerned about the tiny one, Kyle, but Scorpia assured her that he’s a good getaway driver if not much else. The other two look like strong, capable cadets, but it’s easier to test that capability on an op like the one today. “Our job is simple. We’re robbing the Salineas Credit Union bank in downtown. No fancy shit, just in for the money and then out, quick and focused. That being said…” she sets her glass down with a clink and puts her serious face on. “It’s imperative that we represent ourselves properly. We need these people to fear us. They need to see more than a team of uppity thugs who got their hands on some guns. They need to see us for what we are. What are we, cadets?”

“We are The Horde!” They say in unison.

“That’s right.” She stands up, placing her hands in the desk and leaning forward. “Do well today, and the three of you will officially become soldiers of The Horde, with all the benefits and new responsibilities that entails. Are you ready to go over our plan?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

It takes another hour to brief her team on the specifics of the job. They memorize the layout of the Bank and quiz each other on the best route to take. Lonnie takes charge of the other two for the most part, a natural leader. While they prepare themselves, Catra goes to the elevator to visit her ace in the hole.

She had met Entrapta, as she preferred to be known, in high school. Always a little on the weird side, Entrapta didn’t exactly have friends. Obsessed with science and machines, she was interested in social interactions mostly as a means to study behavior. Catra used to find it unsettling, but now it’s just another part of what makes Entrapta… Entrapta. She remembers that it was Adora who introduced them, way back when, but after high school she didn’t see Entrapta for close to five years, not until Catra was the new Boss and Entrapta was evicted from her shitty apartment and kicked out of her job for setting fires with robots.

She works for Catra now, who gives her enough leeway to run her crazy experiments as long as she doesn’t burn down Horde facilities. In exchange, she provides tech for their operations, everything from better guns and faster cars to stealth drones and knock-out gas. Catra’s first three years as Boss had gone a lot better than expected with her inventions paving the way, so she doesn’t chide Entrapta even when she releases dangerous airborne chemicals into the ventilation system and they have to evacuate the club for 3 days. To be fair, that’s only happened four times.

“What have you got for me, ‘Trapta?” She says by way of greeting as she enters the sprawling underground lab. It’s fitted out with metric tons of equipment Catra can’t even begin to name, but she does know it was money well-spent. She scans the room for the little scientist, who could hide out of sight with the best of them.

“Catra!” From her left, a welder’s mask and two pigtails of messy pink hair pop into view. Entrapta hops over the table she is standing behind, bouncing on her feet next to Catra. She puts her mask up, revealing her huge smile. “I’m so glad you’re finally here,” she says ecstatically, taking Catra’s hand and bodily dragging her over to one side of the room. Catra rolls her eyes but allows herself to be moved. Entrapta leads her over to a large, upright case built into the wall and sealed behind deadly expensive bullet-proof glass. “I just put the finishing touch-ups on it this morning!” She smacks a button and fluorescent white light floods the case, revealing what’s inside. Catra smiles.

“Oh yeah, today’s going to be a good day.”

Adora calls her as they ride into downtown. She’s sitting in the back with Rogelio, who respectfully puts his headset when she picks up. She has to detach one of her power gloves to do it, but she gets it on the third ring. “Hey Adora, what’s going on?”

From the other end she can hear air rushing loudly in the background. When Adora answers, her voice is louder than usual. “Oh, nothing really! I just wanted to call and let you know that my class is done, so I’m going to be running some errands downtown before tonight. Do you need anything?”

“Just you, babe,” she purrs, messing around with the harness of her chest plate.

“Flirt.”

“You love it. But no, I’m good.” Her brow furrows. “Babe, where are you? I can barely hear you, is that wind?”

“Oh, uh… they pulled some of the big fans onto the gym floor to let people cool off. Sorry, I’d go somewhere else but it’s, uh, pretty crowded over here right now.”

“Hmm, whatever. I’ll see you tonight when you’re all dolled up for me.” She knows she’s got a stupid idiot grin on her face, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“Pfft, like I’m the only one dolling up. I saw the suit you picked out. Oh, but I gotta hop off before I miss my ride. I’ll text you when I get to Half-Moon tonight, okay?”

“Alright. I love you, babe.”

Catra can hear the smile in Adora’s voice. “I love you too. Bye!”

Rogelio removes his headset when Catra tucks her phone away. Conveniently, the car comes to a stop shortly after, right outside the front doors of their target. Catra reattaches her glove and pokes her head between the two front seats. “This is it, cadets. Remember your places, move on my signal.”

She pulls the metal mask down over her face. It’s a fearsome thing, the visage of a snarling jungle cat with three sharp red lines extending across the nose. It’s an aegis that scares off most who look at it. Even Rogelio shivers just a little when he meets her gaze. But that’s good. Everyone should be afraid when this mask comes on. “Look alive,” she tells him. Then, louder, “Masks on. 3, 2, 1…”

The bank is guarded, but not by anyone worth their salary. Lonnie charges through the doors first, coldcocking the guard on the right and shooting the left one in the leg. Rogelio pushes his way in after her, lighting up the room with the flash of gunfire. He aims at the ceiling, causing plaster and tile to rain down from above, and then points his gun at the tellers standing behind the glass. Kyle remains outside by the car, but his gun is up and ready should it be needed.

Catra, for her part, saunters in like she has all the time in the world. Her armor clanks a bit when she walks across the pretty marble floors, and every step makes the room flinch. It’s good, this feeling, this power.

“Alrighty, folks,” she says calmly, hearing her own voice snarl through the audio distortion tech in her mask, one of many gifts from Entrapta. “Here’s how this is going to work. We’re here to make a little withdrawal. Don’t strain yourselves, we’ve going with the self-service option today.” The sound of metal on flesh and more gunshots ring in the background as Lonnie makes short work of the other security personnel and starts moving to the vault. “So! If everyone would be so kind as to take out their cellphones, pagers, tablets, walkie talkies, telegraph machines, and crystal balls and toss them right here into the center of the room, and then lay down flat on the floor, we won’t have to make a scene, alright? Do it!” Her command is a roar that makes a woman near her shriek in fear. One by one, they each take out their phones and do as she commands.

Catra smirks underneath her mask, pleased.

But her smirk slides right off her face when, from behind her, there is a brief scream and a crash of glass, and suddenly Kyle is flying across the room, slamming into the teller counter and collapsing on the floor in a heap. Catra’s internal groan is loud enough to wake the dead, but though she is loath to do it, she turns around to face the one responsible.

Standing there in the doorway is the last person she wanted to see this morning. Eight feet tall and lit up like a damn glowstick, blonde hair flowing around her head like a living thing, and that stupid outfit, ugh…

Catra’s lips curl back, and she growls. Of course, she would show up today, right when Catra most needs things to go right. She spits out the hateful name that irritates her day and night. “She-Ra…” She is met with glowing ice-chip eyes staring coldly back at her. Her teeth grind. “Don’t you have a job?!”

A hard frown settles on that too-angular, too-perfect face she despises. Her nemesis steps through the shattered entryway, crunching broken glass beneath her pristine white boots. She’s so ridiculously tall that she has to duck her head slightly to get in. “Yes, actually, one I would love to return to,” She-Ra bites out. “But instead, Tigress, I have to be here to make sure you put these people’s money back where you found it.” She crosses her big fuckoff arms over her chest, staring down at Catra like a pissy school teacher.

Catra snarls, activating the claws in her gloves and preparing to strike. “’Fraid you’re going to leave disappointed, princess. But I’ll be sure to buy a bouquet for your funeral with these people’s money!” She leaps, intent on ruining that inhuman face permanently. She-Ra meets her in midair, and the battle begins in earnest. Her first strike is blocked by the golden bracer on She-Ra’s left arm, but Catra gets her with the follow-up attack, punching her square in the jaw, hard enough that she feels it crack, hears the sound of it ring in her ears.

She-Ra isn’t one to be felled so easily, of course, and she rolls with the hit, literally spinning in the air to drive her heel into Catra’s side, denting her armor and sending her hurtling back to the floor. She hits with stomach-squishing force, and a cacophonous bang! echoes throughout the bank. Several people cry out in shock. She rolls away a second before She-Ra’s fist breaks through the tile next to her, sending shards of marble and dust hurtling into the air. Catra spins backs around, presses a button on her wrist, and sends spine-like projectiles flying toward She-Ra’s unguarded face. Her adversary isn’t quite fast enough to avoid them, but they only nick her as they shoot past.

She-Ra tries to grab her by the chest, but Catra expects that. She lets her get close before grabbing her arm above her bracers and sending enough electricity to kill an elephant through her fingers. She-Ra cries out and stumbles as her skin burns in Catra’s grip. Catra uses the opportunity to look back at her team. Rogelio still has his gun up and pointed at their foe, but his eyes keep flashing to Kyle unconscious just a few feet away. She sees Lonnie run into view with a duffel bag packed with cash, sees her take aim at She-Ra and fire, but it’s no use. Normal bullets barely seem to graze the woman’s skin, even on a direct hit. Lonnie shoots and shoots until her clip is empty, and Catra calls out to her. “Take the money and run!” To Rogelio, she shouts “Get him and go! Now!” She turns her attention back to She-Ra, who is in the process of ripping Catra’s hands off her bicep. She staggers back to her feet, but grits her too-white teeth in determination as blue light starts to radiate from her hand. Shit!

Catra scrambles to her feet, or tries to, but She-Ra is faster this time, grabbing her with her free hand and chucking her like a discus through the wall and back out onto the streets of Bright Moon. Catra only has a moment to move as a flash of white, gold, and blue descends on her. She-Ra’s sword, that damnable, ridiculous, unbelievable, FUCKoff sword, shatters the concrete when it impacts, sending cerulean sparks flying. Catra is back on her feet instantly, but not quickly enough to stop She-Ra, who starts sprinting toward their getaway van, where Lonnie and Rogelio are struggling to load in the money and Kyle’s unconscious body. Roaring in frustration, she smashes a button on her boots and blasts off like a rocket, determined to stop She-Ra from reaching her team. She catches up just as She-Ra reaches Lonnie, who still has the duffel bag. Catra buries her claws into the hero’s shoulders, as deep as they’ll go, drawing a yelp of pain and surprise from her enemy. “Go!” She yells at Lonnie, even as She-Ra reaches out and rips the bag from her hands. Lonnie’s eyes are terrified. “Go!” Catra screams as she pulls and rips with her claws to drag She-Ra away from her cadet, raking them through the toughened flesh as best she can until the woman’s pretty white clothes are ruined with red. Lonnie looks at her, stricken, but she follows her orders. She jumps in the back of the van with Kyle as Rogelio drives, tires screeching and rubber burning as they speed out of sight.

“Give it up, Tigress!” She-Ra spits. “Your plan has failed!” She reaches behind, grabs Catra, pulls her over her shoulder like she’s pulling a handbag, and slams her down onto the cement with a thunderous crash.

Catra sees stars for a single, seemingly endless moment but blinks them away. I’ve got no damn time for that! She can feel She-Ra trying to seize her arms to restrain her, and she pulls a maneuver she learned years ago from Adora. She fights and wiggles until she gets both her legs under that red-stained midsection and activates her rocket boots as she kicks She-Ra full force in the stomach. It knocks both of them apart, and that’s all Catra needs. She lets the jet propulsion carry her up into the air, spares one last hateful glance at She-Ra still down on the ground, and then flies off.

Her cadets beg her for forgiveness as Scorpia checks her head to make sure she isn’t concussed. Kyle is awake and concussion-free, but he’s going to be a walking bruise tomorrow, if he can even manage to walk. Lonnie and Rogelio aren’t physically hurt, but their pride has taken a serious blow. Catra understands, and she waves off their apologies as unneeded.

“Things like this will happen,” she tells them. “You can study and prepare and do everything right, and plans can still fail. And it fucking sucks, but that’s the business. We all made it out alive, and that’s the most important thing.”

“The boss is right,” Scorpia says as she shines a flashlight in Catra’s mismatched eyes. “Even before She-Ra showed up, jobs could go south for any number of reasons. What you need to remember is that no job is worth dying for, not one. Failing a mission hurts something awful, but you always get yourself and your team out of the line of fire first.”

Lonnie doesn’t quite look convinced. Catra rests a hand on her shoulder, surprising both of them. “You did well. You followed my orders and did what you could. You’re going to make a fine soldier.” She looks at Kyle and Rogelio. “You boys too. I’m proud of the three of you.”

“Thanks, boss,” Kyle says, brushing a tear from his eyes. Catra turns back to let Scorpia finish her assessment.

“You’ll be fine, boss. No sign of head trauma. You’re going to be a little sore for a couple days, but that’s it. It’s a good thing ‘Trapta upgraded the cushioning in your suit. Would’ve been a lot worse without that.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Catra grunts, get up out her chair. “I still have to go to Half-Moon to make sure that tonight, at least, goes according to plan.” She looks at Scorpia. “Did you remind Entrapta what time the party starts?”

Scorpia nods. “Once this morning and a few minutes ago. I’ll remind her again in a few hours. She’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Catra pulls her suit jacket on and buttons it. “Text me if anything happens, keep me updated on the situation here.”

“You got it!” Scorpia calls as she walks out the front doors.

Preparing her club to host the mayor, city council, and every celebrity in Bright Moon doesn’t cause the same kind of stress as robbing a bank or fighting a supped-up space-Viking princess, but it’s stressful just the same. Catra coordinates with her troops to set up every kind of spy equipment Entrapta could make for them so that no corner of the building is unmonitored. It’s a delicate task. If any of the mayor’s people find them out, they’ll be in for a world of suck. So Catra personally inspects each device with her crew, and has them double check as the evening draws closer. The whole purpose of the bank job was to start buzz, not to get money. Well, the money would have been a nice bonus, but the real goal was always publicity. Even though the mission was a failure, it was a thrilling spectacle. Set enough tongues wagging, and you never know what you might hear them say. Money and guns could keep a criminal syndicate alive for the short-term, but long-term survival came from political favors and blackmail. Catra’s mother had drilled that into her mind from her early years. Don’t be blinded by thoughts of tomorrow and tomorrow, Catra. You should be thinking of next year and next year and next year, always. And Catra despises her mother, but knows good advice when she hears it.

The sun sets and the preparations finish. Catra schools her crew one last time on how the night needs to go, and then the guests start arriving. Catra falls into a familiar and comfortable groove playing the dashing, charismatic hostess. It’s only partially an act; she can be very dashing when she wants to be.

When her phones buzzes, she can’t control the stupid grin that spreads across her face or the butterflies suddenly filling her stomach. Just got here, I’m by the doors! <3 There’s an unmistakable sway in her hips as she walks towards the club entrance. Her toes curl just a bit in her shoes, because Adora is wearing that dress and Catra is already two seconds away from dragging her to a back room and ripping it off. Her gorgeous blonde hair is down tonight, framing her pretty face and neck. Her smile is dizzying when she sees Catra coming toward her. Catra wraps one arm around her waist and tugs Adora right against her body. She catches those pretty red lips between her teeth as Adora giggles into her mouth.

Catra presses a kiss to her lover’s jaw, but pulls back when her breath hisses through her teeth. “What’s wrong?”

Adora’s face is pinched, but she smiles sheepishly. “It’s nothing, just a bruise from my brown-belt class today.”

Catra frowns, touching the spot very gently with her fingertips, finally noticing the discoloration that had been masked by the club’s lighting. “Are you okay? Will you be alright to stay for the party? I’ll take you home if you need me to.”

Adora kisses her cheek fondly and shakes her head. “No, I’ll be fine. They just got a few knocks on me in sparring. Don’t worry, I gave as good as I got!” God she’s beautiful when she laughs.

Catra smiles, knowing her heart is in her eyes. “I have no doubt that you did, love.”

#she ra #spop #she ra and the princesses of power #she-ra #she ra 2018 #she-ra 2018 #adora #catra #catradora #my writing

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trans-rite · 6 years ago

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The Transgender Rite of Ancestor Elevation: 2018 List of Names

Below the cut, a list of names, organized by country, date of passing, and how they died (people have mixed feelings about the latter, we understand). Some include age and other notes as well, but that’s not consistent across the names. This year we made an effort to seek out information about the lives of our beloved dead, where reported, and quotes from loved ones.

Link to a shareable google document with photos

Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, United States

As of mid-October 2018, 22 homicides of trans Americans have been reported. The first known victim was Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, 42, of North Adams, Mass. The founder of the Miss Trans America and Miss Trans New England pageants, she was stabbed to death at her home January 5. Her husband, Mark S. Steele-Knudslien, 47, has been charged with her murder. He turned himself in to police the same night, saying he had done "something very bad," and describing details of the crime, but he pleaded not guilty the following week in Northern Berkshire District Court. He is awaiting trial.

Christa, 42, was a flamboyant and beloved transgender activist, founder of the Miss Trans New England beauty pageant and cofounder of the New England Trans United Pride March and Rally. She believed that being trans was something to celebrate. She was forever cajoling friends to try the higher heels, the shorter dress — “Show your legs, hon!” Her joy seemed boundless.

When Halloween came, Christa struck up a friendly decorating contest with Jennifer Serre, who lives across the street. They one-upped each other, Serre said, adding lights and signs and ghouls until Christa’s yard sported a guillotine, a fortune teller, a ghost, a clown, a girl hanging from a tree, a man dressed in black carrying a shovel, and a graveyard.

Viccky Gutierrez, United States

Viccky Gutierrez, 33, was stabbed to death at her home in Los Angeles January 10. Firefighters were called to a fire at the building early that day and discovered her body. Gutierrez, an immigrant from Honduras, was described as "a beautiful soul who was really nice to everyone and would offer any type of support when someone would need it" by friends who set up a crowdfunding page to raise money for funeral expenses. She was active in the L.A. trans community, working with the Los Angeles LGBT Center on Transgender Day of Remembrance events. A few days after her death, Los Angeles police arrested Kevyn Ramirez, 29. Police said he admitted to stabbing Gutierrez and setting the fire. He is charged with murder during the commission of an attempted robbery, plus two counts of arson, while police continue to try to determine his motive and whether the murder was a hate crime.

Viccky was a young trans Latina woman from Honduras, and a member of TransLatin@ Coalition’s Los Angeles organization. She often joined the team for their daily lunches, provided for free to anyone in need. Friends refer to her as “the nicest girl in the world,” whose “smile would give anyone comfort,” and “an inspiration for many of us.”

Zakaria Fry, United States

Zakaria Fry, 28, went missing from her home in Albuquerque, N.M., January 18, along with her housemate, Eugene Carroll Ray, 70. Their bodies were found February 19 in trash bins in a rural part of New Mexico; both had died of blunt force trauma to the head and face, police said. It is not clear exactly when they were killed. Albuquerque police arrested Charles Anthony Spiess, 27, who is also known by the name James Knight, February 27, and the next day he was charged with the murder of both Fry and Ray, along with a charge of tampering with evidence. Police said he may have lived with the victims for a time. “It's a massive case and there's a lot of connections there. But the main thing is we’re asking the public if they ever saw these three together,” Albuquerque Police Department public information officer Simon Drobik told the Albuquerque Journal. Friends of Fry's described her lovingly. “You were such a fun and positive person despite all the challenges you faced in life,” Tara Yvonne wrote on Facebook. “You were a brave, strong and inspirational woman. Your spirit lives on and you are missed by many. May you rest in peace.”

Celine Walker, United States

Celine Walker, 36, was found shot to death in a hotel room in Jacksonville, Fla., February 4. A friend, Naomi Michaels, wrote on Facebook that Walker “lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive” and “was not a pageant girl” or a clubgoer. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office misgendered and deadnamed her when reporting her death, with officials saying they do not identify people as transgender. Activists have called for a change in the policy, which may have delayed the investigation of the crime. No one has been arrested for her murder yet, and police have revealed no details of their investigation. Some friends suspect her murder was an anti-trans hate crime.

“Celine was not a pageant girl. She didn’t even enjoy going to gay clubs or events. She lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive.”

Tonya Harvey, United States

Tonya Harvey, 35, was fatally shot on a dead-end street in Buffalo, N.Y., February 6. Social media posts by friends described Harvey, who sometimes went by the nickname “Kita,” as “sweet and loving” and “the black Cameron Diaz.” Police and the Erie County District Attorney's office are continuing to investigate her murder, including the possibility that it was a hate crime. Activists pointed out the widespread violence against trans people. “There is a very real epidemic of violence targeting the transgender community, particularly those who live at the intersection of transphobia, racism, and misogyny,” Damian Mordecai, executive director of the Pride Center of Western New York, told The Buffalo News.

Phylicia Mitchell, United States

Phylicia Mitchell, 45, died February 23 after being shot in the chest outside her home in Cleveland. She and partner Shane Mitchell had been together for about 30 years, ever since Phylicia fled her less-than-accepting family in Pittsburgh. They were not legally married, but they had an unofficial ceremony last May in which she took his last name. Phylicia earned a high school equivalency diploma and worked as a hairstylist, and Shane did odd jobs. Shane said their relationship endured and even became stronger through hard times, including periods of homelessness. “I miss her tremendously,” he told Cleveland's Plain Dealer. “That’s my soul mate. We went together everywhere. We did everything together. We always held hands on the bus. Years ago people didn’t respect that, but they do now.” In April, Cleveland police issued a warrant for the arrest of Gary Lamar Sanders, 36, in connection with Mitchell's death. He was placed on Ohio's Most Wanted List and was finally apprehendedby the U.S. Marshals Service in July in West Virginia, where he had been living for more than a month. He is charged with aggravated murder.

She will be remembered for her devotion to hair styling and being a loving and caring partner and friend, despite battling drug addiction for most of her life, her longtime partner said. "Everyone loved her," Mitchell said. "My nieces and nephews opened up to her so much. She was just so funny and kind."

Amia Tyrae Berryman, United States

Amia Tyrae Berryman, 28, was found shot to death at the Shades Motel in Baton Rouge, La., early in the morning of March 26. Police so far have no suspects and are continuing to investigate. Berryman's family declined to speak to local media.

Amia worked in home health care in Baton Rouge. A friend was quoted as saying “She didn’t have much support [from] family...so she made family with her peers in the LGBT community of Baton Rouge.” Another friend said, “Amia Tyrae R.I.P. you were such a sweet person with a big heart...rest well my friend.”

Sasha Wall, United States

Sasha Wall, 29, was found shot to death in her car along a rural road in Chesterfield County, S.C., the morning of April 1. She had been shot several times in the neck and shoulder. Police believe she knew her killer and that her death was likely the result of a domestic dispute. Wall, who lived in a mobile home near Pageland, S.C., was remembered fondly by friends on social media. On Facebook, Donovan Dunlap recalled taking photos of her, saying, “You stayed ready for the camera. I will miss you my beautiful sister. I cannot sleep. I hope they find who did this.”

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon, United States

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon was strangled to death in her Dallas apartment May 9. Police found her unconscious about 4 p.m. at her apartment, Dallas TV station KTVT reports. She was pronounced dead at a local hospital. A witness reportedly saw a man fleeing the scene. Dallas police said they do not believe her death was a hate crime. The are some discrepancies in the details about Flores-Pavon. KTVT listed her age as 26, but the Dallas Voice gave it as 18. Also, while police spelled her first name as Carla, her Facebook page spelled it Karla.“You were a good person,” her friend Gia York Herrera wrote on Facebook, also noting that the loss “hurts so much.” (This is a translation; the original post was in Spanish.) York Herrera added, “God give comfort to your family and friends” and “I send you a hug and a kiss as always.” Police arrested a suspect in Flores-Pavon’s murder, Jimmy Eugene Johnson II, 24, near Huntsville, Texas, May 17. Johnson, who was arrested during a traffic stop, had items from Flores-Pavon’s apartment in his car, so police believe his motive was robbery and not anti-transgender bias. He is charged with murder.

Unknown transgender woman, United States

Officers pulled what they said was the body of a black, transgender woman, approximately 5’3” and 130 pounds, from a river in Dallas on May 15th, 2018. The unidentified victim was wearing a black shirt and black scrub pants.

Nino Fortson, United States

Nino Fortson, a 36-year-old transgender man, was shot to death in Atlanta May 13. Fortson was involved in an argument with two men and two women on the street, The Atlanta Jounral-Constitution reports. A witness said he fired a small gun into the air but then walked away. But a few minutes later, the witness heard more gunshots and then saw him lying on the ground, as one of the other people involved in the dispute limped away. Fortson died shortly afterward at Grady Memorial Hospital. Initial media reports misgendered Fortson.

Many in Atlanta’s queer community learned of the death through a Facebook post on the profile of Kamaro Blahnik, father of the House of Blahnik, who referred to Fortson as “my son” and used both she/her and he/him pronouns to refer to Fortson. Blahnik said that Fortson was known for walking the “Butch Realness” category at balls.

Gigi Pierce, United States

Gigi Pierce, 28, was shot to death in Portland, Ore., the night of May 21. She was from Boise, Idaho, and it wasn't clear how long she had been in Portland. Sophia Grace Adler, 33, has been arrested and charged with Pierce's murder; she has pleaded not guilty. Witnesses and police said there had been an altercation between the two prior to the shooting. A friend remembered Pierce as someone “full of life, always trying to help somebody.”

Her friends recall her as vivacious and enthusiastic. But they also say she struggled with drug abuse and homelessness, living a difficult life that came to a sudden end last week.

"I don't know what demons she was trying to run away from, but she spent her entire life running," says her close friend and former boyfriend Jason Johnson, who knew Eugene-Pierce for more than a decade. "And it was a beautiful run filled with glitter and cocktails." "Gigi was a performer through and through," her friend Dallas Jackson Falls said in a statement last week. "Life was her stage, and those fortunate enough to know her were her audience. Granted, you never knew whether you were getting a drama, comedy or even, in some moments, an action-filled tragedy. That was the thing about her, you just never knew what you were going to get." Eugene-Pierce grew up in Boise, Idaho. Her sister, Nicole Emery, says Eugene-Pierce "treated my sister [Meghann] and I like princesses" and "never stood still."

Antash’a-English, United States

Antash’a English, 38, was shot to death in Jacksonville, Fla., June 1. On a city street, she was shot in the abdomen by someone firing from a vehicle. She died at a local hospital. “She was an unapologetic, bold, and loyal person,” friend Taliyah Smith told Firs Coast News, a program of stations WTLV and WJXX. English had won several pageants and performed regularly at local nightclub InCahoots. Police are continuing to investigate her murder.

On her Facebook page, English described herself as “a very independent transgendered woman ... who thrive[s] on being the best person I can be.” In May, just weeks before her death, English had shared a photo of herself with the caption, “I will no longer be a victim of discrimination. # Trans rights.”

Diamond Stephens, United States

Diamond Stephens, 39, was shot to death June 18 while driving home. She was shot in the back of the head, causing her van to crash into a house. She was not identified as transgender until a month later because police and local news outlets misgendered and deadnamed her. Police, who have yet to identify a suspect, say there may have been others in the car with her. Her family is devastated. “We are hurting really bad,” Stephens’s cousin Georgia Brown told Mississippi TV station WTOK. “I don’t really know what words to say other than we need God to help us and give us strength to make it through this situation and pray to God that whoever did this is found.”

Catalina Christina James, United States

Catalina Christina James was the third transgender woman murdered in Jacksonville this year, leading some to suspect a serial killer is at work. James, from Bishopville, S.C., was shot to death outside a Quality Inn and Suites motel June 24. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office continued its practice of not using trans victims' preferred names. James's mother described her to First Coast News as the life of the party, with a love of travel and dancing.

Keisha Wells, United States

Keisha Wells, 58, was found dead in the parking lot of an apartment complex June 24 in Cleveland, the second trans woman murdered in the city this year. She had suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Her best friend, Sheila Jones, described her to the Plain Dealer as "a tough cookie" but "the nicest person ever." Wells loved dressing up and frequenting nightclubs, Jones added. "(She) always loved the most expensive high heels and stilettos, the hats and (her) expensive sunglasses.”

Wells' aunt, Regina Spicer, said Wells loved to make everyone around her laugh. She said Wells, who family members referred to as "Pokey" and who was referred to by family as both Keisha and her birth name Maurice, also spoiled the dozen or so nieces and nephews. "Pokey was funny," Spicer said. "Pokey liked laughing and telling funny stories about people. But when (she) loved you and cared about you, (she) loved you."

Sasha Garden, United States

Sasha Garden, 27, was found dead at an Orlando apartment complex July 19.

Garden, an advocate for transgender women and outreach coordinator for the HIV and AIDS organization Miracle of Love, was a sex worker saving money to transition and become a hairstylist. Garden was known for an outgoing spirit. "She was a firecracker – very outspoken," said Montrese Williams, who houses transgender women involved in sex work, providing free condoms, water bottles, and HIV testing. "She didn’t hold her tongue for anyone or anybody. Her womanhood was one of those things she stood up for. She didn’t tolerate any disrespect at all."

“There’s a little bit of Sasha in all of us here today,” mourner Richard Sizemore said, according to the Sentinel. “Her adventure in this realm may be over ... but I have faith that on the next plane, she is somewhere where she’s perfect — and everybody knows it.”

Dejanay Stanton, United States

Dejanay Stanton, 24, was shot to death early in the morning of August 30 on the south side of Chicago. She was found in an alley, with a gunshot wound to her head, and pronounced dead at a nearby hospital. Police initially did not know her name and identified her as "Jane Doe," but friends who saw her photo on social media confirmed her identity as Dejanay Stanton.

“She was so sweet. Every time you saw her she had a smile on her face," said LaSaia Wade, executive director of Brave Space Alliance. “She was just trying to live her best life as a young girl.” Police have yet to make an arrest but are continuing to investigate.

The first thing you noticed about Dejanay Stanton is her hair. In one video, it was styled pin-straight and dark brown, though the sunlight teased it out to a golden sheen. As she twirled around on the grass, it cascaded past her hips and swished freely in the wind, almost like it had a life of its own. Other times, it would be crimped or in soft curls, in a bob with blonde tips or, toward the end of her life, dyed scarlet. “Everyone, no matter what their gender or sexuality, knew her,” Jones, 25, said. “She was loved and never did nothing to nobody. So it was a shock.”

Jones said Stanton never had a bad word to say about anyone and was a family-first person. She lived with her mother, step-dad and four siblings, and every day she told her mom she loved her. Whenever someone was short on money, she always paid for that person’s meal or drinks. “There was a sweet spirit about her,” Jones said. “Always inspirational or encouraging. She was always living life.” Stanton also loved to travel, Jones said. One of her favorite destinations was New York City, where she’d go shopping and restock her much-coveted wardrobe. “She was a girl who loved style,” Wade said. “She was trying to live her best life. It was like a breath of fresh air.”

Vontashia Bell, United States

Vontashia Bell, 18, suffered a fatal gunshot wound August 30 in Shreveport, La. She was found on the street early that morning and pronounced dead at a local hospital. Police and media misgendered her, but a Louisiana activist organization identified her correctly. Bell’s death “is a reminder of the current climate and national discourse on trans issues,” said the release from Louisiana Trans Advocates. “Dehumanizing language and actions lower the barriers to this kind of senseless violence.” The group called on city and state officials to condemn anti-trans discrimination and violence and to work against institutional racism. Police have yet to make an arrest but have asked the public for help in identifying a suspect.

Shantee Tucker, United States

Shantee Tucker, 30, was shot to death September 5 on a Philadelphia street by someone firing from inside a pickup truck. Witnesses had seen her arguing with the person in the truck just before she was shot, and police believe she knew her killer. The police also said they don't think the attack was motivated by her gender identity, but her friends and trans activists don't agree. Friends recalled Tucker, who worked in a beauty supply store, as a sincere and down-to-earth person.

Tucker had just celebrated a birthday.

London Moore, United States

London Moore, 20, was found shot to death September 8 in North Port, Fla. Her car was found the next day at a different location. Police said the crime was an isolated incident and that they believe she knew her killer, who remains at large.

On September 1, Moore posted on her Facebook that she was “going to give this whole love thing one more chance.”

“Wish me luck,” she added.

Ms Columbia, United States

Residents of Queens are reacting with shock and grief at the news that Miss Colombia, a colorfully attired Jackson Heights personality who was a fixture at LGBTQ Pride celebrations and other gatherings, was found dead in the waters off Jacob Riis Park in the early morning hours of October 4. Miss Colombia, aka Osvaldo Gomez, preferred male pronouns and was an attorney in his native Medellín, Colombia, arriving in the US in the 1970s fleeing persecution in his homeland, he stated in 2015 in the video documentary series “No Your City.” He was 64. At an evening vigil on October 5 in Jackson Heights, out gay City Councilmember Daniel Dromm of Jackson Height said Miss Colombia “was an iconic figure in the LGBT community and beyond. She was beloved by all who saw her in the streets, at parades, and in the neighborhood wearing her colorful outfits and a bird on her shoulder. Her cheerfulness and ability to bring a smile to the faces of all who met her will be missed by all New Yorkers. I remember marching with Miss Colombia at the first Queens Pride Parade and at other parades across the city, including the India Day Parade and the Chinese New Year Parade, among others. While life did not always treat Miss Colombia with all the respect she was due, New Yorkers will remember Miss Colombia as a hero to everyone. May Miss Colombia rest in peace.”

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, United States

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, 28, of Laredo, Texas, was found dead near Interstate 35 in south Texas September 15. She has been shot in the head. Juan David Ortiz, 35, an intelligence supervisor for the U.S. Border Patrol, is charged with murdering Enriquez and three other women. Police and prosecutors are calling the murders a serial killing spree in which Ortiz singled out sex workers. They have not ruled out the possibility that there are other victims. Enriquez, so far the only known transgender victim, was described by family members as “very outgoing,” “always smiling,” and “loved by the gay community.”

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, United States

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, 31, was stabbed to death in Chicago the night of October 3. She was found in the backyard of an abandoned house and pronounced dead at the scenc. Police believe her killer was a man she had been arguing with at the house, but they have yet to apprehend him. Her death came just over a month after the fatal shooting of transgender Chicagoan Deejay Stanton. “It feels like we are being targeted,” LaSaia Wade, executive director of Chicago trans organization Brave Space Alliance, told the Chicago Sun-Times. She knew Frazier through the local ball scene. “I’m frustrated and upset with the lack of cases turning around,” she continued. “There is a lack of [concern for] our safety from police.”

Jessie Sumlar, United States

On July 19, 30-year-old Jessie Sumlar was found stabbed to death in Jacksonville, Florida. According to loved ones, Sumlar regularly performed in drag and identified as queer. A friend writes: “I will miss you so much! I looked forward to seeing your beautiful smile! You were such a kind and thoughtful person. Rest with Jesus my beautiful Jessie! Youve impacted more lives with smiles and good purpose than you know. Ill never forget your warm touches on my shoulder and soft voice and how you ALWAYS spoke to everybody when you entered the room.”

Roxsana Hernandez, United States

Roxsana Hernandez died while in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement after fleeing violence and discrimination in Honduras.

Hernandez recently petitioned for asylum after traveling as part of a caravan of migrants fleeing violence in Central America.

Roxana Hernández reportedly died from HIV-related complications following an alleged five-day detention in what’s known by immigrant rights groups as the “ice box” – Ice detention facilities notorious for their freezing temperatures.

Four months before joining the caravan, Hernandez said, she was walking home when MS-13 gang members started screaming "We don't want you in this neighborhood, you fucking faggot" at her before gang-raping her. "Four of them raped me and as a result I got HIV," Hernandez told BuzzFeed News. "Trans people in my neighborhood are killed and chopped into pieces, then dumped inside potato bags." Standing in front of a church in Puebla, Mexico, playing with a silver cross around her neck, Hernandez said that gangs had continued to threaten her and told her she had to leave the area where she lived in Honduras. "I didn't want to come to Mexico — I wanted to stay in Honduras but I couldn't," Hernandez said. "They kill trans people in Honduras. I'm scared of that." Hernandez said she was able to put some money together to head to Guatemala. Her plan was to return to the US, from which she had previously been deported three times. She had some family in the US but said they did not accept her because she was trans. From Guatemala she went to Mexico, where she eventually linked up with the caravan of 1,200 to 1,500 migrants heading north.

Mondragón said Hernandez had been sick when she turned herself in to US border authorities but was in good spirits. "She told me she loved me. She had courage, but was nervous at the thought of entering the US again," Mondragón said. "I'll remember her as a timid, respectful person, always giving the other girls advice and sharing her food."

Vanessa Campos, 36, a trans woman working as a prostitute, was shot dead on August 17 in Paris' bois de Boulogne. She was originally from Peru and had been living in Paris for two years. The police initially referred to her as a "male transvestite".

Local media reports said Ms Campos had been attempting to prevent one of her clients from being mugged before she was fatally shot in the chest.

“Vanesa was a very soft person,” says Rincon. “She was good at listening. After the death of her father back in Peru, Vanesa took on the role of breadwinner and she was still sending money home to her family.”

“When I went back to the forest a few weeks ago for the memorial, I saw how Vanesa and her friends had tried to make it safer to work,” Rincon says. She explains that the area is dark and isolated but the women had set up battery-operated lights, brought water bottles and made a makeshift shelter so they’d have privacy with clients and avoid being arrested under French exhibitionism laws frequently used to target sex workers. “Vanesa’s friends have to keep working there, in the place where she was murdered,” Rincon says. “It's now a communal cemetery, with candles and people going there to pray.”

Four unknown women, India

Following a false rumor that transgender women were kidnapping children for sex trafficking in Hyderabad, four transgender women were attacked by a mob on May 26, 2018. One of the women died. Local police issued an "Appeal to Public" saying that the rumors of criminal involvement by transgender women were "fake" and that the public should not "take law into your hands...so that innocents won't become a victim of those rumors anymore.

Naomi Hersi, United Kingdom

Naomi Hersi, 36, was found stabbed to death at Heathrow Palace in London at 10:30 on Sunday 18 March 2018. Jesse McDonald, 24, from Hounslow, has been charged with murder. A 17-year-old girl, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was released on bail after being charged with assisting an offender.

Naomi who lived in Mill Hill, north London, was described on social media as a “tennis lover, music junkie, film and tv addict”. She was of Somali origin who had lived in the United States before returning to the UK. One neighbour said: “She was fun to be around and a real character. She was into music and tennis. She was a nice person.” Another neighbour said: “Naomi was a flamboyant, lovely fun person. I think she had problems in her life but was well liked. We are devastated to lose a friend and neighbour.”

In April, a transgender woman was shot dead in Pakistan, making her the 56th trans person to be killed in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region in the last three years. Sheena, who lived in the Shewa area, was allegedly attacked by a group of armed men who beat her up and then shot her dead on Sunday night.

Sheena, Pakistan

Unknown woman, Pakistan

August: Police in Peshawar, Pakistan, have arrested two suspects in the killing and dismemberment of a transgender woman, with one found carrying a shopping bag containing the victim’s body parts. The victim, identified only as Nazo, was shot to death late Thursday, and her body was then “hacked to pieces,” Radio Free Europe reports, citing an interview that Police Superintendent Cantt Waseem Riaz gave to Pakistani media.

Unknown woman, Pakistan

September: A transgender woman in Pakistan has died after being set afire by four men when she resisted sexual assault. The men had taken the woman to an isolated area in the city of Sahiwal, in the eastern part of the nation last Thursday, The Times of India reports. She fought back when they tried to assault her, and then they set her on fire. She suffered burns on 80 percent of her body and died while being transported to a hospital.

Sheila, a transgender woman and sex worker, was shot in the streets of Tepic on March 14, 2018.

Yoselyn, Mexico

Yoselyn, a transgender woman and sex worker, was found beheaded inside the room of a short stay motel in Álamo, Veracruz on April 5, 2018. She was seen with a client who left before the corpse was found.

Gretchen Alina, Mexico

Gretchen Alina, a transgender woman and drag queen show performer was strangled to death in Monterrey on April 10, 2018. She performed as Lorena Hererra.

Yamileth Quintero, Mexico

Yamileth Quintero, a transgender woman and beauty queen was shot in Culiacan after an encounter with a man she had met online, May 24, 2018.

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, Mexico

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, an undocumented sex worker originally from Honduras, was murdered during a sexual encounter on June 19, 2018 in Tapachula. The client stabbed her to death after discovering that she was transgender.[285]

Katty, Mexico

Katty, a transgender woman and sex worker was shot by an unknown man at a nightclub in Yautepec de Zaragoza on June 27, 2018.[286]\

Chanel, Mexico

Chanel, a 45 year-old transexual sex worker, was shot in the streets of Toluca, July 18, 2018.

Alaska Contreras Ponce, Mexico

Alaska Contreras Ponce, 25, a transgender beauty queen and sex worker, was found dead with her neck sliced by barbed wire after gruesome torture in Martinez de la Torre, July 25, 2018.[288]

Juan C.M., Mexico

Juan C. M., a 24 year old transgender woman and local taxi driver, was found dead in Santa Maria Atzompa on August 12, 2018. Apparently, she had a gunshot wound.

Samuel Santolli, Mexico

Samuel Santolli, a transgender woman and sex worker, was stabbed to death by her lover, a Salvadorian gang member in Tapachula, May 26, 2018.[290]

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, Mexico

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, 32, a transgender woman and hairdresser, was shot 28 times by armed men in Guadalajara, August 27, 2018.[291]

Arturo, Mexico

April 27th, 2018: Arturo, a trans woman, was found in the entrance to a field Villa de los Belenes neighborhood of the municipality of Zapopan .

#names #troe2018 #violence #violence tw #transmisogyny #TDOR #ancestors

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