#also revisited the antique store au
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OC in 15 - Yael Greene
rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!
Thank you @aztarion, @topaz-carbuncle and @serially-wayhaven for tagging me, I loved reading the ones for your OCs so much! I'm stealing Lucille's idea for adding a link to the fic (if posted) where the quotes are from ^^
“I understand,” she whispers. She turns around before he can see her break down completely. (x)
“In case you haven’t guessed, and I know you have, you were distracting me. I was thinking that you look very beautiful when you’re concentrating. Very beautiful and very distracting and I would like to—” She shakes her head. “No, one thought.” (x)
“You know I’ve always wanted a sister?”
“Would be fun, yeah? Good thing you have—” Farah falls silent, realisation spreading over her face. “Me. Oh, that’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
“But don’t you see, we shouldn’t have to find them. No one should have been taken in the first place. All they want is me.” (x)
“Or you could… demonstrate?” She bites her lip, his gaze flickering to her mouth at the movement. “Right now?” (x)
“Hmm, yes. Yes, you did. But it’s part of what makes it romantic, don’t you think? Being lost in the throes of passion, forgetting about anything else. No thinking, only feeling, feeling…” (x)
“I don’t think I need to make any wishes tonight, you know. Not when you’re already here with me.” (x)
“Are you sure there’s still space for me between all the bubbles?” (x)
“Just like me. And each mark tells a story, some are good and some are bad and some might be sad or funny, but they are all part of its history, you know? In trying to remove that it felt like, like they were telling me everything was fine. That Murphy never. That I wasn’t changed.” (x)
Do you, can you maybe understand? Just a little? (x)
After a few deep breaths, Yael places her hand on top of Morgan’s. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” With a wavering smile, she adds, “I appreciate you.” (x)
“My car didn’t die, it’s just… ill. Yes, it’s ill.”
“You should go help them. I’ll,” she swallows, “I’ll be fine.”
He breaks the kiss when she shivers against him. “You’re getting cold, darling.”
“Are you going to follow that one up with a proposal to warm me up?” (x)
“You could have escaped,” Nate says, vehemently. “You should have escaped.”
Tears of anger and frustration burn hot in Yael’s eyes. “I couldn’t. How was I supposed to just leave you? You were— I thought—”
(Yes, nr 10 is me cheating, but letters are a kind of dialogue, right?)
Tagging anyone who wants to do this really, but also: @evilbunnyking, @nat-seal-well, @agentnatesewell, @wayhavenots, @ellstersmash, @fauville, @nsewell, @sustainably-du-mortain, @lykegenia, @lukas-du-mortain
#oc: yael greene#this made me go back to some very old writing#which was a lot of fun#also revisited the antique store au#the final quote is from that one
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Title: Your Knight in a Sweater Vest
Overall Rating: NC-17
Overall Warnings: Parental bullying, mentions of bulimia, nudity(?), drinking, partying, cursing, very slight mention of war and trauma, smut
Pairing: Reader x Steve Rogers
Summary: When you need help dealing with your rude and overbearing family, your best friend Steve Rogers comes to the rescue. Modern!AU - For @barnesrogersvstheworld Writing Challenge Shot Through the Heart
Chapter: 1/10
Word Count: 1,638 words
Chapter Warnings: None
-X-X-X-
The bar was packed as you squeezed yourself through the crowd, searching for a group of familiar faces. It was Friday, which meant only one thing: meeting up with the guys at your favourite spot for beer and wings. Afterward you’d probably play pool and keep your eyes out for someone to hook up with.
“Yo, Y/N, over here!”
Sam is peering over the crowd, waving his hand in the air. He, Bucky, and Steve are already packed into a booth, a pitcher of Bud half empty.
“What, you guys start without me?” you ask, sliding on to the bench next to Steve.
“That’s what happens when you’re late,” Bucky scolds, sliding over a fresh glass.
“Dude, not even five minutes.”
“Five minutes is still late, Y/N.”
“I’ll remember that next time you’re late, James.”
“Now, now, children, settle down,” Steve smirks. "You're both late as often as the other."
You and Bucky smirk and he winks. Steve is always the peacekeeper between you two. Not that you don’t like each other, just the opposite, but you have kind of a love-hate relationship, as if you’re each other’s annoying sibling.
The waitress comes around, blonde girl with big tits. She smiles at all the guys, and ignores you. You’re used to it. Downside to being the only woman in a group of men. You order five-dozen wings, another pitcher, and a round of shots of Honey Jack.
“Kay, so, game at my place Sunday?” Sam asks.
“You got it, man,” Steve says and Bucky nods.
The shots come and before anything else is said you clink your glasses and shoot back the sweet, amber liquid.
“What ‘bout you, Y/N?”
You shake your head, “Sorry boys, no can do. Prior engagement.”
“Hot date?” Steve smirks.
“I wish,” you pause and take a large gulp of your beer to stall for a moment. The guys’ questioning faces don’t relent. “I’ve got a barbecue at my mother's house to go to.”
Their immediate reaction is to look concerned, quickly followed by angry.
“What the hell are you doing even talking to her?” Bucky’s brow furrows, “She treats you like shit.”
“She's my mother, Buck. Besides, it’s not so bad anymore.”
“I don’t believe you for one damn second, doll. You always make excuses for that family.”
You swallow the lump in your throat. Sam, Steve, and Bucky are quiet, unhappy with you.
“There’s something more isn’t there?” Steve asks.
You nod and whisper, “He’s back.”
“Who’s back, Percy’s back?!” Bucky’s fist hits the table with a thud.
“You mean that asshole that had you starving yourself?” Sam asks.
“That asshole who had you working out so hard you passed out and had to be rushed to the hospital?”
“He doesn’t want to get back together, does he?” Steve asks.
You shake your head and call the waitress over for another round of shots, doubles this time.
“No, he just wants to show off his new girlfriend and tell me how much better she is then me. And how much more successful he is then me.”
“Want us to come beat his ass?” Sam offers.
The wings arrive and you all dig in. You laugh and shake your head.
“No, that would be a seriously unfair fight.”
Bucky laughs, “Dude still skinny as shit?”
“You know it.”
“Never skip leg day!” Sam yells.
The tension of the previous minutes has lifted and your plight is ignored for a while as you watch a random soccer game on the TV and continue to stuff yourselves with beer and wings and whiskey. After another round you head over to an empty pool table, you and Steve against Bucky and Sam. As Bucky and Sam rack up the balls Steve hands you a cue and says quietly.
“Seriously, Y/N, if you want some back up, I’m there.”
You sigh, of course he would offer. Steve was one of those seriously good guys that always tried to do the right thing.
“And how would you help?”
He shrugs, “I dunno. But I could at least stick up for you. Be there to let everyone know how great you’re doing with your life.”
“Really, Steve, I don’t need a cheerleader.”
Steve smirks, “Damn, now what am I gonna do with my pom poms?”
“Y/N, your break!”
-X-X-X-
Friday night ended rather uneventfully. You drank more. You played pool. Did a bit of dancing. Went home. No one got lucky that night.
Sunday rolled around. It was a hot day so shorts were a must. You still had a hard time showing off your legs, especially around your family, but if you tried to cover up with pants you’d regret it. Besides, Sam was always telling you to show off the body you’d worked so hard for. He’d kill you if you told him you hid it away. You paired it with a thin white button up, rolling up the sleeves to your elbows. You knew your outfit wasn’t nearly as fancy or feminine as your mother’s or your sister’s surely would be, but you’d mostly abandoned the need for their approval by now, anyway. Mostly.
The look of utter disappointment was exactly what you’d expected, followed by the obligatory scolding for your tardiness. The tardiness was completely intentional, of course, the less time you spent with them the better.
Your mother and sister were visions of perfect beauty. Hair shiny, bouncy, not a flyaway in sight; and they were both wearing long flowing maxi dresses. It made your $5 bargain store shorts and shirt seem frumpy.
Then there was the ex, Percy. He wasn’t typically good looking. His face held too much expression, almost goofy, his eyes and lips large on his narrow face and his dark hair was unruly, sticking up in every direction. He wasn’t particularly tall, and had a thin body with just enough muscle to counteract any fat. But he had a certain charisma in the way he carried himself and the way he spoke that captivated people. It had certainly captivated you once.
His girlfriend was beautiful. Like a movie star from the 1950’s. She dressed like one too. And she was so damn nice that it was hard not to like her. Even though you tried, very hard.
You milled around the barbecue mostly, sipping your beer and trying to avoid conversation. You don’t often get what you want, though.
“Long time no see, Y/N, how ya been?” Your stepdad’s work associate asks as you try to slip quietly by to get yourself another beer.
“I’m fine, Geoff, how are you?” You answer politely, looking down at your empty bottle.
“Oh, just fantastic. Did your stepdad tell you we made a killing this year? Yeah, Jan and I are gonna take a trip to Hawaii to celebrate.”
And thus began the extremely exciting and titillating conversation of the world of insurance. Somehow the man was able to talk about the most boring subject in the world for an entire half hour. You zoned out after about five minutes and only came to when he finally asked you a question.
“What is it that you do again?”
Great, the question. Everyone always asks that question. Normally you wouldn’t care, you enjoy telling people what you do for a living. Just not this crowd.
“I’m a woodworker.”
“Oh. So what does that mean, exactly?”
“I build things out of wood. Furniture, sculptures, you name it. Some of what I make is my own design, whenever I get inspiration; a lot is custom building stuff. I also do antique restoration. And I teach yoga and self-defence at my buddy’s gym.”
“How interesting. And is there a lot of money in the woodworking business?”
“Probably not as much as in the insurance business,” you shrug and back away, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been empty for far too long.”
All these people ever talk about is money. They base their ideas of success on how much money can be made, not how happy something can make you, or someone else. Your favourite thing in the world is seeing the amazed looks on a client’s face when you bring their ideas to fruition, sometimes better than they could have imagined. But conveying that feeling to these vultures was impossible.
“Good to see you again, Y/N,” his voice interrupts you before you can even take five steps and you once again look down at your empty beer and sigh; you’re gonna have to upgrade to whiskey.
“Wish I could say the same for you, Percy,” you turn and paste a fake smile onto your face.
You don’t know why, but he still makes your stomach tie into knots every time you look at him. He broke your heart, and you got over it. You did. There isn’t a bone in your body that wants to revisit the lack of a relationship you had with this man for one year. And yet when you look at him, especially with her on his arm, you think about how long it’s been since a man has touched you. You think about how long it’s been since a man looked at you with desire in his eyes. You look at him and your body yearns, and aches for what could have been.
“You’re breaking my heart, babe,” he feigns pain with a hand over his heart.
“Oh, if only I could.”
“No date again?”
“Well, I didn’t want to make you jealous.”
“How kind of you.”
“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me you had a guest coming?” Your mother rushes over.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of food and beverages, but really Y/N, it’s quite rude. Please tell me next time so I can be prepared.”
“Mother, what are you talking about?”
“Hey, honey, sorry I’m late.”
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