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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

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Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 32

32. if we go down then we go down together

Summary: lola meets nikki's mom, gets a promotion, and tommy plays nurse, oh my!

Warnings: heroin use, mild gun violence, uhhh, lime i guess? like sensuality.

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @lovehelpmewrite @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @dramatique-moi @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer @redlipscrystalskies14 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-specific-oceans

{ MASTERLIST }

Nikki throws himself into his heroin addiction like his life depends on it, if only to be able to make it through a conversation with Tommy without blurting out that marrying Heather is a huge mistake.

"It's his mistake to make," Lola had to remind him, her touch gentle against his heated skin. Nikki, unaccustomed to not getting his way, and with a newfound sense of jealousy, is not handling it well. He alternates hot and cold whenever he interacts with the drummer, icing him out one minute, acting like they're closer than ever the next, and Tommy, ever the lost little puppy, is drowning in confusion.

"Is he on something new? Is it the zombie dust?" Tommy asks, slinging his arm around Lola as he murmurs to her conspiratorially. Lola's skin burns at the contact, but she refuses to let it show. He was hanging around her, he was touching her again, she'd take anything she could get.

"He's going through some stuff," she said with a tight smile, and Tommy makes a noise like he understands, "hey, if he - or you - need anything..." Tommy trailed off, but Lola understood, and she gives him a gentle thanks, and steps out from beside him. Things between them have been better, thankfully, but right now Lola's got bigger things to worry about.

The last thing Nikki needs in the middle of his sexuality crisis and having to watch one of the people he loved marrying someone else, was Doc's misguided attempts at being a good Samaritan. Doc had learned the hard way that to surprise Nikki or Lola, he had to keep the secret from both of them.

When Doc knocks on Nikki and Lola's door a few days before the end of the tour, just a week before Christmas, it's after a hard night of partying; the phone's ringing, Lola's already itching for a hit by the time she jolts awake to Doc's shouting.

"Answer the door, Sixx," Doc calls through the door, and Lola groans as Nikki swears beside her.

"It's our morning off," Lola whines, turning and burying her face into her pillow.

"When did we get food?" Nikki asks blearily, pushing himself up off of the mattress and the half-eaten burrito he had been lying on.

"Vince's suggestion," Lola mumbled, barely coherent, into her pillow.

"Fuck you both; Lola, I know you're in there," Doc continues banging on the door, but Nikki stands, delightfully pantsless, and makes his way to the door, grabbing a half-finished drink from the table on his way.

"Alright, asshole, calm down," Nikki snaps back as he opens the door to an already fully dressed Doc waiting for him. There's a long pause, followed by the faintest exasperated groan from Doc.

"Clean yourself up, you've got a visitor," his gaze flicks to Lola, stark naked, laying starfish on the bed with her pillow around her head to block out his voice, "I think you'll want to bring her too."

Nikki closes the door on his face, but complies.

"It's probably a reporter," Nikki doesn't even bother to shower before he's pulling on a pair of leather pants. Lola shakes her head beneath the pillow, enough of a movement that Nikki can interpret.

"Doc would have told me if it was," she tells him, before heaving a sigh and herself out of bed. They get dressed in mutual annoyed silence, broken only by Doc occasionally telling them to hurry up. Lola's wearing one of Nikki's singlets tucked into a miniskirt, while Nikki's wearing a polka dot shirt that neither of them will admit to owning, though they both look very good in.

Finally, as they open the door, Doc looks them both over, like a parent checking his children look presentable enough for their first day of school.

"Wash your faces," he instructs.

"Eat my ass," Lola snaps, right at the same time as Nikki tells him to suck his dick. Doc looks pained.

"Him I understand, but you? You've been doing so well," Doc sighed, his voice full of gentle disappointment, but Lola just crossed her arms; Doc's gaze flicks for a moment to her chest before her lets out a noise of annoyance, "and wear a damn bra; can this please be the one hotel lobby that doesn't see your nipples?" Nikki snorted a laugh at that.

"It's my morning off, you jag," Lola tells him, cocking her hip.

"Wash the puke off your face," Doc ordered the both of them, and reluctantly, they both stepped back, once more taking the satisfaction of slamming the door in his face. On the bright side, however, as Lola pulled on a leather jacket in favour of a bra, she hears Nikki going through his luggage. Once she turns to him, she sees him silently pull a needle and baggie from his luggage, waving them enticingly.

"Fine!" Lola shouts at the door, feigning anger, but her expression reads delight as Nikki searches his pockets for a lighter. They head to the bathroom, turning on the sink to mask the noise as they liquefy their heroin, and Lola sits up on the bathroom counter. She slides her skirt up until it's up around her hips, and Nikki leans into her, crowds her against the wall with his hand warm on her thigh, kissing her roughly. Lola sighs gently into his mouth, and when he breaks away to concentrate on injecting her, she lets her head fall back against the wall as the needle pierces her thigh, and the drugs flood her system.

When she opens her eyes, she sees Nikki watching her with a intense gaze, but gentle amusement, adoring how relaxed and trusting she was in these moments. He quickly refills the needle, and holds it out to her, offering his other arm. He braces against her thigh with his other hand as she injects him, and after capping the needle, the kiss they share is surprisingly tender.

With little more preamble, mostly due to Doc yelling that this face washing was taking too long, they did, in fact, was their faces and leave, looking as respectable as they could manage, despite Nikki bringing a bottle of JD with him. Both still mostly annoyed with Doc for ruining their sleep in, both Nikki and Lola are silent on the elevator ride down. As the doors open, however, Doc explains.

"Your mother called, Nikki; she asked to come to a show," he explained, and every muscle in Nikki's body seemed to tense at once. Like an icy wind had blown in, both he and Lola could feel the whole world shift to something wrong, "so I thought, with it being the holidays and all -" Doc seems so pleased, so self satisfied, as if he didn't have Nikki's personal devil smiling at the three of them like she's happy to see them.

Deana Richards stands and smiles and opens her arms for a hug from Nikki, approaching him like she has any right to, while he's frozen to the spot, looking more ill than usual.

"Merry Christmas, Frank," she tells him, and even Lola recoils at that, lip curled in a silent sneer at the woman.

"That's not my name," Nikki tells his mother as she hugs him, but he doesn't push her away, his grip white-knuckled on the neck of the bottle he'd brought. Lola's hands are in fists by her side, like she's aching for a fight, but this isn't her battle.

"My baby," Deana murmurs into Nikki's hair, holding him close. Nikki's heart aches with old, still unhealed wounds, as he leans into her embrace, just a little. "That song," his mother starts, stepping back a little, eyes wide and curious and gentle, "the one about looks that kill," at the mention of the song, Nikki's eyes flick to Lola, who's watching with a thinly veiled disgust, "it's about me, isn't it, Frankie?" But his mother draws his attention back, and Nikki feels the deeply buried rage and hurt simmering suddenly just beneath his skin.

He steps back, and her expression falls, from warm to uncertain, and she calls him Frankie again in confusion. In a split second, everything about Nikki changes, contorts with rage.

"That's not my fucking name!" He hollers, and throws the bottle to the ground, shattering it instantly before he storms off, and Lola wants to chase him, but Doc's after him and Deana says her name.

"That's what they call you, right? Lola?" She asks, and it takes everything in Lola's being not to sock the woman in the face, "his girlfriend?"

"I'm his partner," Lola spits icily, before turning sharply on her heel and stalking towards the sounds of Nikki's anger.

"You are not my fucking father, and you are not my fucking friend," he's turned on Doc, anger and betrayal in his eyes, in his voice, in his heart, "you're just another leech with your hands in my pockets who wouldn't be standing there right now unless you were getting something out of it, so just fuck off, Doc," Nikki snapped, bitter and hurting. When Lola reaches for him, her hand finding his, he flinches away for a moment before he sees it's her, and something in him relaxes, just a fraction. After a beat, he grabs Lola's hand and leads her to the elevators, all but yelling over his shoulder.

"Lo, you're our manager now; Doc, you're fucking fired."

It's not as simple as that; there's more signatures required than days in the year, and the rest of the band are hesitant. Mick, especially, trusted Doc to know what he was doing, and takes more than a little convincing; it's only with Lola promising that she's turned over a new leaf, and that she wants what's best for them, that he finally stops his quiet campaigning to rehire Doc.

Once the tour ends, she visits Doc, but he seems surprisingly nonchalant about it.

"I think if anyone can get them all in line, it's you," but she can sense the caveat he's working up to, "but that's only because you, more than anyone else, know who they really are." He hands her a hefty stack of folders, "this contains every contact I had for them, every schedule, every note I've ever taken for or about those assholes, as well as lists of venues they're banned from, parental watch groups that hate them, publicists and photographers who refuse to work with them, and hotels they have owed money in the past but somehow still let them stay there."

After a moment of strained silence, Doc steps back, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, giving her an appraising look.

"If you and your heroin addled, self sabotaging boyfriend make it through the next year alive, I'd wager you'd be unstoppable," he says, with a blunt honesty, and Lola frowns, but he barrels on, "I'll call Tom Zutaut and tell him I've handed over all the documents; he'll call and set up a meeting with you in the next few days."

"I didn't think I'd be sad to see you go," Lola tells him, but she shrugs after a moment of consideration, "and I'm not." But it's with a well worn fondness for the end of their routine.

"Working with you was one of the most painful experiences of my life, Lola," Doc tells her honestly, and Lola can't help but grin at that. After a moment, however, Doc's voice softens, "good luck, Miss Gone; I'll see you in hell," which would have made her laugh if it wasn't so heartfelt and sincere.

"See you in hell," she tells him with a warm smile, and leaves, closing the door on their bittersweet goodbye.

Lola all but drowns in paperwork, even with the tour at an end, she's trying to follow Doc's scheduled for their next album, working around Tommy's upcoming marriage. The label wants them back in the studio within six weeks of the tour ending, and Lola's fighting to keep up. She turns one of the spare rooms into an actual office, gets herself a business phone line, and starts getting tabloids delivered so she can keep a track on the band's public image through outside perspectives. She's getting calls from across the world for people wanting to interview the band, even her, and learns the hard way that Doc had been the one dealing with the band's fanmail. So now she's got a P.O box, and has to collect the mail daily, both fan and business inquiries, until she has to get a second P.O box, and make a whole new set of calls informing anyone wanting to work with the band, where to send their mail.

A month has passed before she realises, a month spent in a haze of work and heroin; Nikki's been spiraling in her peripheries, but she can't help him, he won't let her help him. He's icing her out, and so while Nikki's been locking himself in his cupboard, paranoid at all hours of the day and night, Lola's been feeling a little like Atlas, the weight of her world on her shoulders, the band's future.

The incident with Nikki's mom had broken something inside of him, something he didn't even want to consider fixing for reasons unknown to Lola. Couple that with Lola's long hours alone in her office, and Tommy being preoccupied with Heather, Nikki was on a knife edge.

"I'm losing you both!" He shouted at her through the cupboard door, paranoid, shaking, when Lola had just been trying to comfort him.

"Babe, you're not losing me, and you're not really losing -"

"Don't fucking lie to me, Lola!" Nikki had hollered, before growing worryingly quiet, "you're working with them." He hissed.

"Who?" Lola sighed, and Nikki practically snarled at her.

"They bugged the house, but I was too quiet so they want you to rile me up!"

"Nikki -"

"Get out!" Nikki shouted, banging on the closet door, effectively scaring Lola, making her jump, "get the fuck out!"

Nikki's been festering in his heroin-induced paranoia, trying to lock Lola out, interrogating her when she gets back about where she's been. She's been sleeping on the sofa more often than not, alone, while Nikki lays mostly catatonic in the bedroom closet. As Nikki relies more on the drug, Lola finds she's using it less, afraid of what Nikki's become, afraid she might become that herself.

It comes to a head the day Nikki fires at her through the front door after she gets back from the post office, telling her to get off his property, that she was a spy for the government, or Doc, or his mother.

"I've been in your office! You have my face in there a thousand times over! It's obsessive; you're obsessed!" He snarls, and Lola rests her forehead on the door.

"I'm your manager, I'm compiling articles on the band, baby, please," she tries, but it's clearly not the right answer. The bullet grazes her arm.

She doesn't know where to go. Reasonably, she should go to the police, or to hospital, or to Mick to have some kind of sense talked into her. But her nerves are shot raw, and there's only one person she trusts with her emotional state like this, the only person other than the man who'd fired at her.

"Nikki's locked me out," Lola's looked almost guilty standing in Tommy's doorway, with tear-stained cheeks and a trembling lip. There's a stack of letters in her hand, and her arm's bleeding.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Is Tommy's first question, but Lola still won't look at him.

"He's acting paranoid," she swallowed hard, "threatened to shoot me if I opened the front door," Lola's voice is barely a whisper, "he did shoot me, a little," she admits, turning her arm so he can see where the bullet had grazed her, "he's scaring the shit out of me, I didn't know where else to go." It's like it's hard for her to admit, and there's an unfamiliar sincerity about her vulnerability. This isn't a ploy, she isn't trying to manipulate him, that much he can tell.

"He could have killed you, Lols," without thinking, he's inviting her in, stepping aside, his hand on her shoulder, warm and familiar.

"I know," her voice is weak, and he leads her through to the bathroom. She sits up on the bathroom counter as he goes to find Heather's medical kit. For a moment, with the water running, and him tending to her wounds, so gentle and no nonsense, Lola's hit with a wave of deja vu, of nostalgia for a time long past, and in an instant, her expression crumples as she can't even hold back her tears.

Tommy panics, still trying to apply cream and bandages to her upper arm, while Lola sobs beside him.

"How did we all get so fucked?" She demanded, "how did we go from being those kids in that shithole apartment, to this?" But he doesn't have an answer for her, just keeps tending to her, "how did I ever let myself hurt you?" She hears herself saying, and Tommy hands still where he's wrapping a bandage around her arm.

"We've all made mistakes, Lols," his voice is gentle, and he carefully makes sure the bandage won't come loose. As soon as her arm's free, Lola crumples, hunched over, her head in her hands.

"I'm so sorry I'm here, Tommy," and she means it when she apologises, "I know Heather doesn't like me, I just..." there's something that warms his heart, how she still trusts him so completely, even after everything.

"Heather's filming in New York for a few days," he tells her gently, wrapping his arms around her, "and you're always welcome here." They stay like that for a long while, together, Lola weeping and Tommy gently rubbing her back.

"I can't believe he shot at you," there's an anger in his voice that Lola hadn't been anticipating, and his grip tightened for a just a moment. But then, as soon as she'd heard it, it had passed, and Tommy stepped back, his grip gentle as he took her hands, "come on, Lols." Pulling her to her feet, he lead her to the living room, to the big, plush sofa there.

He bundled Lola up in blankets, with as many pillows as he could find, trying to make her comfortable as she still sniffled.

"Heather's got a whole bunch of girly movies," he explained, kneeling by the VCR cabinet, "we could watch -"

"Do you have Pinocchio?" Lola asks, voice small and watery, to which Tommy gives pause.

"Pinocchio?" He asks tentatively. Lola nods. Expression apologetic, he shakes his head. "I don't think anyone I know has it."

"I do," Lola says quietly, as if almost to herself, "bought it for myself for Christmas a few years ago; they only sold it for about a month and a half." She looked up, as if remembering Tommy was still there, "what's your favourite? I'm happy to watch that."

"I never took you for a Pinocchio fan," Tommy muses with a half smile, glad, more than anything else, that she'd stopped crying.

"It was dad's favourite; we'd go and see it every time it released in theaters."

"Dude that's adorable," Tommy told her with an affectionate sincerity.

"I know," Lola said with a faint, pleased smile, before brushing it off, "I don't care what we watch; you pick."

When she asks why he's being so nice, so accommodating, Tommy admits to missing her, to missing his best friend, though that's said with a moment of discomfort. He misses Nikki too, but now's not the time to talk about him. Instead, he asks what the letters were that she'd brought, and Lola's more than happy to tell him about how much fanmail the band gets.

They read through the letters and postcards, both adoring how earnest a lot of the words were. Lola had planned the sit the boys down to sort through and respond to any that caught their eye, and send generic letters back to those that didn't, but she and Tommy work through the few she'd brought that day without any fuss. The fans get to know that one of Lola's favourite movies is Pinocchio, while one of Tommy's is the sound of music, and Lola finds herself enjoying the work more than she had in the past month.

They get Chinese for dinner, and Tommy lets Lola eat most of the spring rolls, and they drink beer and watch TV and it almost feels like old times. They talk together, laugh together, and as the night wears on, Lola finds a familiar comfort in how sleepy she gets with her head on Tommy's shoulder.

A yawn escapes her, and Tommy moves automatically, moving her so she could lay her head in his lap, his fingers carding through her hair.

"Can I ask you something?" Tommy asks, only half paying attention to the ads.

"Of course," Lola says around another yawn, shifting to make herself more comfortable.

"You were just... just so okay with like, dating me and Nikki and Vince," he mused quietly, and Lola's not sure what to say to that, "and we were okay with it, but like, it could have been weird, but it wasn't."

"I know, I was there," Lola tells him with flat amusement, and Tommy laughs, giving a gentle, absentminded tug on her hair, to which Lola has to stifle a quiet groan.

"How did you know it was okay? To love all of us?" He asked, and Lola swallows, trying to find the right words.

"I didn't," she admitted, "I was just very, very lucky."

"Didn't what? Know if it was okay?"

"Know if it would work out," Lola clarifies, shifts a little, and Tommy's hand rests still in her hair, "but it did."

"And you just knew you loved us all?"

"I knew I wanted to be with you all, be friends, be fuck buddies, be, you know, more; the love came later." Lola turns now, from her side to lay on her back, to look up at Tommy with wide, curious eyes. He was looking back down at her like he hadn't in a long time, and his hand cups her jaw.

"Is it easy to love more than one person?"

"As easy as breathing, if you really do love them," Lola tells him, leaning into his touch.

"Can I ask you another question?" His voice is quiet, Lola nods once. "Did you really love me as much as you love Nikki?" Lola's breath catches in her throat, and suddenly her mouth feels dry; he's running his thumb so softly along her cheek bone, his other hand resting on her hair.

"You don't want me to answer that," Lola says, weakly, and something about Tommy's expression darkens as he jumps to conclusions.

"Because it's no, isn't it?"

"Because we're both weak, you know this, drummer boy, and you're about to get married, and- and-" but the dam breaks and there's tears in her eyes but she can't look away from him, "of course, Tommy, of course I love you as much as I love Nikki, but it doesn't matter now -"

He kisses her quiet, leaning in until she props herself up and meets him half way, kissing him hard. They fit together like they were designed to be in each other's arms, and Lola hates herself for what she's doing, how weak she's being, but to know that he still loves her, even a little, enough to still want her, she'll take it.

His touches make her feel like porcelain, like he thinks she's moments away from shattering, and perhaps her mind is, but her body is a different story. But she finds she doesn't mind, likes how tender he is and how gentle she wants to be in return, wants to tell him she still loves him with her fingertips on his skin when the words won't come out.

They make love like Lola hasn't in a very long time, precious and intimate, yet fully aware of how wrong this situation was. There's a mutual sense of regret shared in the shower, and Lola sits on the bathroom counter in the nude, not meeting Tommy's gaze as he redresses her wound.

"Did you come here for this?" He asks, voice a little guarded, and Lola swallows hard, shaking her head.

"No," she tells him honestly, "I just needed to be with the person who makes me feel the safest."

She stays the night in his bed, wrapped up in his arms, his warmth, his scent, and it feels like home. He offers to let her stay longer, but Lola rejects his offer, tells him she needs to head home and try and see if she can help Nikki.

"He shot you," Tommy frowned.

"He's going through a state of drug-induced psychosis, he needs help," she tells him gently, and Tommy nods, but then reconsiders.

"How do you know that?"

"Family history of psychosis; I researched a shitton about it after Doc pulled up all that info on my family," Lola explained. As she goes to leave, Tommy catches her good arm, and pulls her in for a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Be safe, call me if you need anything," he tells her, and Lola steps away, sad smile on her lips.

"You know, we really need to learn to let go of each other;" Lola's smile doesn't reach her eyes, "you should be happy with Heather."

"So you're allowed to love more than one person, but I'm not?" The heartbreak reads on Tommy's face clear as day, and Lola can't look at him.

"It's different," Lola's voice is gentle as she finally gets to the door, "it would be different if Heather liked me."

"Would it?"

"If you wanted it to be."

Lola gets home to Nikki almost crash tackling her in an attempt to give her a bear hug, as he was shaking, muttering about how he'd thought he'd lost her, that she'd been taken. Lola kisses him gently and hides his gun, and when he offers her heroin, she takes it, if only to forget the feeling of Tommy's lips on her skin, and the sadness in his eyes when she'd left.

Going to his wedding wouldn't be fair on either of them, she needs to let him have his happy ending without her.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #tommy lee imagine #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee x oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the angry lizard writes

33 notes · View notes

smeraldos · 5 years

Text

blindside [pt. 3]

truth or lie: you can’t keep a secret.

go back [2] <

from the beginning [1] <<

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genres: angst, romance, simmering suspense

summary: You’re studying at Korea University and working part-time at Mint, Min Yoongi’s assorted art shop. That much Jeongguk knows. What he doesn’t won’t kill him.

hint: two bts members are indirectly mentioned in this chapter…comment if you think you can guess who 👀

a/n: shoutout to worldwide lovely/spicy fic writer @crystaljins for reading my draft! (more a/n at the end)

⌘

Halfway to the barbecue place for her sendoff party, Jiwon had taken a detour, promising you it would be quick. “What are you looking for?” you asked, following her into a clothing boutique.

“This,” she answered, showing you her phone. On her screen was a red puff-sleeved blouse adorned with small flowers.

“That’s cute.“

“I’d hope so,” she replied, flipping through a row of shirts. “It’s for my sister. She’s been whining about how Seoul has a lot more style than Jeonju. I mean, what’s the difference? They look pretty much the same to me.”

“Actually, they’re not,” you pointed out, putting back a red blouse with polka dots. “This is HQ material, of the highest quality.”

“Ah. I’m hopeless when it comes to this stuff.” She moved on to the next rack. “I just told her to study hard.”

“But if you’re getting this, wouldn’t she just bug you to buy something again?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell her. It’s just that…” Her voice trailed off. You turned to see her on tiptoe, straining to reach the blouse that matched what she’d shown you. It was on a higher rack, and because she was short, she could only grasp the hem.

When you tried, you didn’t fare much better.

“Excuse me,” Jiwon called out, catching the attention of a tall employee. “Can you help–”

“How much is this?” A woman farther off cut in, holding out a viridian dress. She soon gathered she’d interrupted Jiwon and apologized. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

To Jiwon’s surprise, the employee went to the woman first.

“Wait,” she protested as he walked past. “I–”

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said, barely half as sincere as he should have been. “She called me first, but I’ll get to you right after.”

You both watched him help the woman, who you now noticed was dressed in Hermès, a Chanel bag dangling carelessly off her arm. She was pretty in a haunting way: deliberately thin, more bone than she was skin. It was obvious why the employee had gone over to help her instead of Jiwon, who - despite looking cute in your opinion - didn’t appear wealthy or waiflike.

“Can you believe it?” Your co-worker fumed. “I saw him look at me first, and he–”

She marched over to said employee, but before she could reach him, you caught sight of the shoes on display.

“Hold on,” you said, rushing to grab the tallest, sturdiest pair of heels you could find. When you returned, you placed them in front of her. “Try these.”

“What?”

You met her puzzled look with an arched brow. “Don’t you have a blouse to get?”

⌘

When you and Jiwon arrived at the restaurant, Taehyung held the door open. Min was already inside, waiting in line to claim a number for a table.

91, you read from the slip of paper he flashed upon returning. The last number called had been 80, so you excused yourself to go to the restroom. Jiwon followed suit, but she didn’t go into a stall as you did. Instead, she stood in front of the sinks, gathering her messy curls into a high ponytail.

“So are you seeing someone?” She asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Well…we’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we? I just never really got to know you.“

Though it was true, she’d never expressed an interest in your life outside of work. Not that you minded – you were trying to keep a low profile, so you hadn’t opened up to her, either.

“I’m not,” you said, stepping out to wash your hands. “I don’t have the time.”

"Then who–”

“Who what?”

“Nevermind.”

Through the mirror, you sent her a long, pointed look until she gave in. "I bumped into a guy on my weekend shift. He said he was looking for you.”

“And you thought he was my boyfriend?”

“It was just a guess. He was wearing that same necklace you have, and I’ve never seen it on anyone else.”

You weren’t wearing yours at the moment, but you knew what she was talking about - the amethyst pendant you wore strung on a thin, silver chain. Its twin was an emerald cut into the silhouette of a dog, the zodiac animal claiming the year of your birth, so you could see why Jiwon had mistaken it for a couple necklace. In truth, it was your brother’s.

You hadn’t seen him in a while, and to be honest, you preferred to keep it that way. Yet as Jiwon described his wiry profile and ready smile, you knew that would no longer be the case.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just if I could tell you to check your phone. Then he left.” Jiwon turned to you. “So is he a friend? It seems like you know him, and he knows you enough to visit.”

Shrugging, you said, “I knew him since we were kids.”

“And here I thought childhood friendships didn’t last. You guys must be close.”

You hummed. It was as much a yes as it was a no.

⌘

It was late when you returned to your apartment – your small, spartan place on the sixth floor of the complex. Climbing up so many stairs at once was a feat, but you didn’t feel accomplished. All you felt now was burnt out.

You unlocked the door to reveal your sofa, plush and orange, and immediately went to lie down. It was your favorite spot to rest after a long day, and you’d have stayed that way if you hadn’t seen the post-it on your fridge. check lease exp. date, you’d jotted in a hurry. It was sometime this month, but the exact day escaped you.

You got up and went to your room, crouching beside your bed so you could slide a box out from underneath. Inside it were your important files – the last place people would look for valuables was where they normally stashed things that weren’t.

You flipped through papers until you found what you were looking for: a letter, creased, bearing the logo of your residence on its corner.

Hastily, you scanned it for a date. 4/15/17. Not good. That meant you only had a few days to renew your contract or find another place, and with the way your apartment hunt was going, you doubted you’d find a new one soon.

Neither could you afford to pay your bills for the next year.

Not for the first time, you considered applying for other jobs. You’d have to find a way to work around your current ones at Mint and a high-end restaurant, but that wasn’t an issue. You’d done it before.

How long they could keep you afloat was a different matter.

At that moment, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out to see a light blinking purple, a color that belonged to only two of your apps: a fantasy game and a burner app.

You couldn’t remember the last time you played.

As it was, you opened the burner to a new message from Pink Panther. Just two images, to be exact. One was of gleaming red shoes; the other, their price tag.

You looked at the tag first, thinking he’d wanted to draw your attention to it, but the price was nothing special. Standard, considering the luxury brand. It wasn’t until you zoomed in that you noticed an unusually long string of numbers below the barcode.

0b1010111100101011110000000

You knew binary code when you saw it. Pink Panther had made sure of it, although he used it sparingly, and only in subtle hints.

This one translated to 22,960,000. In won, that would be exactly what you needed to cover your security deposit and rent for a year. How he knew was beyond you.

But you could care less. You were desperate, and you needed to respond before the timed message disappeared. And with it, the promise of keeping your home.

where can i get them? You texted back, a veiled reference to the money. As soon as you did, the images vanished.

Nothing. That was all you got in response.

You waited a while, then gave up, resigning yourself to your hapless future when an ellipsis appeared.

💬

Then finally: mirae, my face isn’t a secret. you’ll know where to find me.

...

a/n: hugs and thank you’s to everyone who showed this fic a ‘lil love and/or boosted it! hope you’ve had fun and i’m very sorry to any who were waiting - i had a lot to figure out and i’ll do my best to get the next one out as soon as i can 💜

if you’re wondering where jk is, i really wanted to put him in this part but he’ll appear in the next chapter! thanks for reading and until then 🔍

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook au #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #jungkook fic #kim taehyung #min yoongi #bts #my fic

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raging-violets · 5 years

Note

“Are you wearing my shirt?” for pre-relationship Kendall/Riley, please?

The smell ofpaint twitched up Kendall’s nose, making him back away and turn his head, pressinghis face to his shoulder to breathe through his sleeve. When he finally wasclear, he looked back at the wall before him and shook his head as he lookedover the large hole in the wall once more.

One too manytrips down the swirly slide.

He should’veknown his mom wasn’t kidding when she said, “Next one who goes through the wallis fixing it.”

But he wasn’t the one who went through the wall,his hockey stick did. Okay, he was abit too lazy to just go through the front door, but who wouldn’t use the swirlyslide to enter his apartment whenever they wanted?

But to beregulated to a full day of learning how to fix a whole in the wall, gatheringthe supplies, then actually fixing said hole in the wall—all so Bitters wouldn’tgive them their third strike? That was some sort of torture. Especially when itwas such a beautiful day. He could be at the beach, or out playing roller hockey,or getting screamed at by Gustavo.

“It’s notthat bad, Hockey-Head, don’t be a baby,” Riley said, lowering her arms, usingher roller to smooth paint down the wall. She looked at him, tilting her headaside and flashed a teasing smile. “You’ll get used to it, considering how muchstuff you lot tend to break, yeah?”

“Ha ha,”Kendall replied. He sighed heavily, seeing how much longer the repairs wouldtake. Having to wait for the wall to dry and then having to do another coat.Not to mention the constant complaints about the smell and having to keep thewindows open at all times. “At least Gustavo hired professionals to do it.”

“That’sbecause he knew you lot would much it up.”

“Can you bea little supportive?”

Riley turnedto him with wide, innocent eyes. She blinked, lashes fluttering as she asked, “Isn’tthat why I’m here?”

Kendall felthimself smile in response. Yes, it certainly was why she was there. He hadn’teven asked for her help. He warned her about her and her siblings about not usingthe swirly slide to get into the apartment—it seemed to be the only way theyever arrived at The Crib—and she’d asked what happened. He sheepishly filled inthe story and the next thing he knew, she was rolling up to the PalmWoods witha trunk full of supplies to repair the wall.

“I was just goingto get the stuff from Bhudda Bob,” Kendall remarked, when he went out to greether, somewhat dazed at the gesture.

At that,Riley snorted and asked, “You were going to trust getting materials from BhuddaBob?”

“Good point.”Kendall took a long-handled paint brush and a few paint cans from her. “You don’thave to waste your day helping me.”

“No worries,mate,” Riley replied. Then she brushed her hair over her shoulders and addedwith a smirk—of course with a smirk, “I couldn’t have you fuck anything elseup, yeah?”

Now, Kendallbrushed sweat off his forehead and frowned as he folded his arms. Most of the daywas gone, but it didn’t matter. He actually found himself having fun, just ashe always did when he hung out with her. Even with her thinly veiled threat, “IfI get paint on any of my clothes, I’ll kill you.”

Kendall lookedat her then, smiling and looked away when she looked back. Then he did a doubletake, noticing—and simultaneously wondering—that the length of the dress shirtmade it appear that she wasn’t wearing any shorts. (He was not staring at her legs, thank you very much). But then realized theshirt looked somewhat familiar to him. He tilted his head, parted his lips,closed them as his eyes squinted, then finally asked, “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Maybe.”Riley casually glanced down at the flannel that covered her arms. “I found itin the costume closet.” She then gave him a funny look. “Not like you’d knowthe difference, yeah?”

“I might,”Kendall lobbed back.

“How many differentflannel shirts do you own?”

“I don’tknow. I stopped keeping track after the first ten.”

“Do you havesome sort of emotional attachment to it?”

“Oh yeah,that blood stain on the sleeve is from the first fight I got in, in a hockeygame,” Kendall joked back. “I knocked the other kid’s teeth out and still wenton to win the championship game. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“Do you wantit back?” Riley asked, lifting her hands as if to grab the collar. Her eyebrowstwitched upwards, the corners of her lips starting to pull back into a smirk.

“Not unlessyou can get the paint out of it,” Kendall replied, looking over the splotches thatpolka-dotted the front and arms. He then her met her gaze and added with asmile, “And, it looks better on you, anyway.”

#ocappreciation #toalltheocsivelovedbefore #allboutocs #big time rush #btr #kendall knight #riley jackson #kiley #otp: knight light #i miss writing them #like really REALLY miss it #thanks for the ask #dancer-dramatic-14

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saoirse7ilysi · 6 years

Text

ML Fluff Month

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Read it on A03

This is part of a collaboration between: @saijspellhart, @yamina20-blog, @ao3bronte, @aknazer and myself in celebration of @miraculousfluffmonth!

Things you may need to know about this chapter: -This chapter takes place in a nonmagic universe. -Adrien and Marinette are about 22 years old. -This is part 4, and the final part of my Adrienette series of drabbles.

21: In Sickness and in Health (Adrienette)

Adrien took a deep, cleansing breath as consciousness pulled him from the depths of sleep. As his awareness of his surroundings grew, the first thought of the day hit him.

It’s my wedding day!

He sat up, his eyes open wide, checking the time.

6:28

He’d only gotten about four hours of sleep, but that didn't matter. His flight had been delayed and he didn't get home from his trip until around two in the morning. Nathalie had assured him that everything was prepped for the wedding and his father had sent him off to bed.

Exhaustion had hit him hard, and after sending a quick text to Marinette, he let sleep take him.

And now he was awake, the only thing going through his mind being his wedding.

Adrien decided, before anything else, he should get some food. Upon entering the kitchen, he was surprised to find his father drinking a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Father.” Gabriel looked up at the sound of his son. “I thought you'd be sleeping.” Adrien retrieved a cup for himself.

“I don't get much sleep, these days,” he answered simply. “What are you doing awake? You don't need to be awake for a another…” he checked his watch, “two hours.”

Adrien set his coffee on the counter near his father, before moving to the refrigerator to find a small breakfast. Spotting some yogurt and fruit, he pulled enough out for both men and sat down.

“I couldn't sleep anymore. The ceremony’s at one, I know, but,” he took a deep breath, light sparkling in his eye as he looked at his father, “I'm getting married, Père! How can I sleep when today marks the beginning of the rest of my life?”

Gabriel couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. He knew he was hard on his son all through his childhood, especially since the loss of his dear wife, and he hadn't exactly let up since the boy had grown into a man. And he knew Adrien didn't exactly feel close to him. However, in this moment, he felt he had done right by him. He had made a lot of mistakes, but seeing Adrien and what was ahead of him, felt he must have done something right. Even if that something was reduced to a few moments.

He was proud of his son.

“I understand, son.” He took a sip of his coffee, before accepting the offered breakfast. “It was much the same on my wedding day. I don't think I slept at all that night.”

That caught Adrien’s attention. He turned to face his father.

“Tell me about it?” he asked.

Gabriel finally gave into his smile. Standing and turning toward the door, he motioned for Adrien to follow as he collected his food and drink.

“I can do one better. We have time.”

Adrien cocked his head to the side, watching his father leave, before quickly doing as he was told. His answer eventually came when Gabriel lead him to the theater room. The older man quickly found the disc he sought out and turned the massive screen on to watch it.

The video was one Adrien had never seen before. It was his father and mother’s wedding. The two men watched in silence, taking in the beauty of Adrien’s mother and the difference in Gabriel.

He looked nervous.

Gabriel Agreste looked nervous.

Adrien chanced a glance at his father, only to find him enraptured. His smile was gentle and genuine. Unguarded. His eyes taken, almost vulnerable.

It was exactly the way he pictured he looked when he was with Marinette.

-----

It was eight by the time Adrien made it back up to his room. Walking up to his bed, he turned and flopped, back first, onto the soft covers, letting his hands fly above his head. As he landed, his left hand hit the soft surface as he’d expected.

It hit something hard… well, not hard per se… he moved his hand to feel the foreign object. It felt like… leather. He explored the object a little further. It was a leather bound book.

Curious.

He hadn't noticed this before.

He pulled the book from his pillow and sat up to look at it.

It was a simple green leather scrapbook. It had a plain front save to a single detail. A detail that had Adrien’s eyebrows climbing.

It was a picture. A black and white photo of a manicured finger seductively pressed against a woman’s lips in an indication to ‘hush’. The photo only showed the lower half of the woman’s face, however, there was no mistaking who this seductress was.

Marinette.

Curiosity held a power over him and he opened to the first page. Immediately, his face caught fire. He could feel his pulse pick up, and his blood race south.

The first photo was quite simple, but the promise it held made it hard for Adrien to breathe. The photo was of Marinette’s arm outstretched against a wall and holding the only pop of color to be seen. Dangling from her finger was red and black polka spotted panties. His favorite panties.

As he turned each page, he could feel his face getting hotter, the smile he wore only growing. Seeing Marinette wearing several little pieces he assumed were things she’d received during her bachelorette party, made him anxious to see her again.

The last page was a photo of the back of her head and bare shoulders, a veil decorating her hair, with a simple note printed elegantly underneath:

To have and to hold

Together or apart.

-----

“What’s up, Dude?” Nino called as he entered Adrien’s room, “You ready to go get married?” He grinned, pulling the groom into a hug.

“Am I ever?” Adrien laughed, “I can't sit still. The ceremony is still so far away!”

“Nah, man, it'll pass before you know it. As it stands, we need to get to the rooms and get ready. Pizza’s being delivered, so let's go.” Nino grabbed Adrien’s tuxedo and motioned for him to leave.

Upon arriving at their destination, the sight of Alya told Adrien that Marinette was already there and getting ready. Adrien would have stopped her, but she had an arm full of water and quickly heading up the stairs to Marinette’s dressing room. Not to mention, Nino was dragging him to their own dressing room.

Seeing all the activity and everyone getting ready, fed into Adrien’s energy, making it near impossible to sit still long enough for his hair and makeup to be done.

It was a mere hour before the ceremony began when Adrien and his groomsmen were finally finished getting ready and began greeting the guests. Adrien’s heart was in his throat and beating so loud, he could scarcely hear anything else.

Anyone he mentioned that to said he was just nervous. But that was it. He wasn't nervous. Or scared. Or second guessing in any way.

Time seemed to inch along agonizingly slow.

He couldn't wait to see his bride. He was mildly curious about what her dress looked like, but more than anything, he knew, no matter what she wore, she would still be the most stunning person in the room.

It took everything in him not to just march up to her dressing room and hold her. Kiss her… ravage her.

The last time he'd seen her was a week ago when Nino and Alya had crashed their date. Sure he’d talked to her in the meantime, and he was there via phone for the dress rehearsal. But god did he miss her. And knowing only a few walls separated them was agony.

As the time inched closer, Adrien was guided to stand beside the officiant, where Nino and the groomsmen were told to find their respective bridesmaids and to get ready to start.

It was almost time and as Adrien stood there by himself, watching everyone pile in and take their seats, he couldn't help but bounce excitedly on his toes. It was a subtle motion, but enough to keep him in place, at least. As he continued scanning the room full of guests, he locked eyes with his father, who was seated next to Nathalie. His father took a slow, deliberate breath in a subtle reminder for Adrien to do the same.

Adrien closed his eyes and began working on willing himself to calm down. Breathe in. Heart rate slow down. Breathe out. Heart rate slow.

Then the music changed, announcing it was time. And Adrien’s bouncing ceased to be subtle. While he wasn't quite jumping, Nino and Alya couldn't keep the amusement from their faces as they walked down the aisle.

Adrien moved forward to kiss Alya on the cheek as Nino claimed his place. Returning to his spot, Nino put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to slow the bouncing. Adrien couldn't help it.

The next couple to approach was Kim and Alix, followed by Max and Rose. Behind them was Nathaniel and Juleka, and finally Ivan and Mylène. As each couple approached and took their places, Adrien bade them the same greeting he did for Nino and Alya.

As the music changed again and everyone stood, facing the now closed double doors, Adrien’s energy spiked. Nino was actively, albeit subtly, holding Adrien down to avoid the possibility of the man actually jumping like a child from his overwhelming excitement.

The doors opened and there she stood, tiny next to her father, but the most radiantly gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.

The sight of her stole the air from his chest, as he finally stopped bouncing. He couldn't. It was as if all of the energy and strength he had was sapped from him. He felt weak at the knees. She was… out of his league… Who had he pleased to be given such a gift.

He couldn't help but stare as she walked down the aisle. Her blue-black hair framed her face perfectly before being pulled back in an intricate assembly of braids and curls, a sheer veil falling gracefully down her back.

As for the dress… it was perfect… She was perfect.

Delicate sheer lace covered satin along her bust rising up just enough to decorate Marinette’s chest as it made its way straight across to the off-shoulder lace sleeves, which travelled down her arms, stopping half way between her elbows and wrists.

Satin wrapped atop the lace just under bust line hugging her hips wonderfully, wrinkling from the way it was sewn and smoothing out as the satin flowed directly away from body all the way to the floor, the chapel style train naturally laying flat against the floor behind her.

On the right hip, where the wrinkled material ended, a layer of the satin was released from the seam, flowing down and around the front of the skirt to show a layer of the same lace-over-satin that adorned her chest. The lace travelled from the seam on her hip to the floor and around the front of the skirt until the satin layer covered it once more.

The bouquet she held had a beautiful assortment of calla lilies and blue and purple dendrobium orchids. The colors, while held at her waist, did wonders to draw attention to her eyes.

Her face glowed as she approached him, her beautiful blue topaz eyes holding every bit of happiness in them that he felt.

She held his gaze until, her father broke away from her. He shook Adrien’s hand, raising his free hand to the groom’s chin.

“Close your mouth, son. Otherwise you going chap your lips before you get to kiss her,” he said with a grin.

Adrien promptly, shut his mouth, shaking his head for clarity, before thanking Tom for everything.

Tom turned back to his lovely daughter, kissed her on the forehead, and lifted her chin, so she could look at him, saying softly, “I'm so proud of you, Mon Chou.”

Marinette could feel tears attempting to form as she reached up to hug her Papa, thanking him. When he let her go and left to join his wife, Marinette turned toward Adrien, who held his hands out to her. She wasted no time in slipping her free hand into his, turning to hand Alya her bouquet, so she could hold both of his hand.

The moment he felt her grip his fingers, he visibly relaxed, finally having the anchor he needed to keep him from floating away. The two of them planted themselves in front of the officiant, both more than ready to continue the ceremony.

The Officiant cleared his throat before starting. Looking first to Marinette, then to Adrien.

“You have known each other,” he said, “from the first glance of acquaintance to this point of commitment. At some point, you decided to marry.” Marinette squeezed Adrien’s hands, hearing that moment in her head.

“From that moment of yes, to this moment of yes, indeed, you have been making commitments in an informal way.” Adrien lifted Marinette’s hands to his lips, unable resist kissing her, even in this way.

“All of those conversations that were held in a car, or over a meal, or during long walks—all those conversations that began with, ‘When we’re married,’ and continued with ‘I will’ and ‘you will’ and ‘we will’—all those late-night talks that included ‘someday’ and ‘somehow’ and ‘maybe’—and all those promises that are unspoken matters of the heart,” he continued. “All these common things, and more, are the real process of a wedding. “The symbolic vows that you are about to make are a way of saying to one another, ‘You know all those things that we’ve promised, and hoped, and dreamed—well, I meant it all, every word.’” Adrien smiled at Marinette. He didn't think it possible to be this happy. “Look at one another and remember this moment in time.” The two did as he bade. “Before this moment you have been many things to one another—acquaintance, friend, companion, lover, dancing partner, even teacher, for you have learned much from one another these past few years. Shortly you shall say a few words that will take you across a threshold of life, and things between you will never quite be the same.” They both took a deep breath as they gazed into each other's eyes. “For after today you shall say to the world, ‘This is my husband.’ ‘This is my wife.’” The Officiant continued from there, and all Adrien could think of was his love for this woman.

When it finally came time for them to exchange their vows, Adrien turned to Nino, who gave him Marinette’s Wedding ring, while Marinette turned to Alya, receiving Adrien’s ring. When they were facing each other once more, Adrien slipped Marinette’s ring on her finger, before he began.

He took a deep breath, holding his bride’s gaze. “Marinette, I love…” He broke his gaze for just a moment, looking up to the ceiling, before returning to her, “everything about you, from your determination and bravery to your your sweetness and compassion, to your clumsiness and nervous rambling.” Marinette looked down bashfully, for just a moment.

“I love it when I'm there to catch you in time so you won't make out with the floor.” The crowd chuckled. “I loved it, in lycée, when you’d slip and accidentally tell me exactly what you thought of me… of course, during that time, I still didn't get it…” Alya snorted, while the rest of the bridesmaids all snickered.

Adrien smiled at the delicate shade of pink resting over Marinette’s cheeks, continuing, “When we graduated, I realized, I didn't like the idea of us growing apart.” He shook his head as he said this. “I found myself dreading the end of the year because none of us knew where our lives would take us,” he paused, “and I came to the conclusion that my life would never be the same without you by my side. So I asked you to dinner.”

He took a breath as he could feel his eyes water, “From that moment forward, life with you has been an adventure. One that, I promise, will never cease.”

An expression of love and determination came over his face. “I promise to stand by your side, and bring out the best in you, just as you bring out the best in me. I promise to laugh at your jokes and teach you some of mine.” At that, Marinette couldn't stop a light chuckle and paired it with an eye roll.

Pleased with her reaction, he continued, “l promise to hold you when you need held and play with you when you need play time. I promise to distract you when you're having artist's block, even if you don't think you need it, because, you have to admit, it works.” Marinette gave a sarcastic nod of her head.

Adrien paused again, reclaiming his bride’s gaze, “I look forward to cuddling on the couch with you while watching a movie, to waking up each morning with the weight of your head on my shoulder and your arm across my chest.” He pulled her her hands to his chest, over his heart. “I look forward to knowing that when I come home from work, you'll be there to greet me. I look forward to asking you how your day was and listening to the sound of your voice.”

“I look forward to the day we get pregnant, to the day we have our first of three children.” Marinette grinned, as that was her preferred number. “I look forward to raising them with you. I look forward to watching them grow up and have families of their own. I look forward to growing old with you, to sit with you in our rocking chairs on our front porch watching the sun rise.”

Adrien let go of one for her hands, reaching to cup her cheek and gently wipe away the tear that had managed to escape. His voice lowered in volume, losing himself in her, “I know that, together, our lives will be full of love and laughter. And I look forward to every moment of our future.”

Pulling her left hand up and pressing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he finished, “I love you Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And today marks the beginning of the best adventure I could ever have hoped for.”

It took Marinette a moment to compose herself, having to try more than once to get her voice to work. She took a deep breath of her own, and slipping his ring onto the appropriate finger, she finally began.

“Adrien Agreste, on our first date we were fresh out of lycée, unsure of where our lives would go, and I felt like all my dreams had come true. I had previously thought I had moved on and gotten over my crush on you.” Alya chuckled. “Apparently not.” Having pulled both their hands down between them again, she stepped so there was nothing else between them. “Over the next few months, we went on walks, had dinners, and went to the theatre and I realized my dreams had really, only begun. I realized, with you, I could be-” she stopped, “we could be anything we wanted. The world was open to us.” She took another breath, holding his gaze, “You are my source of focus and my source of distraction, my number-one go-to man for a cheesy pun,” The crowd chuckled again, “and future inspiration, the one I can't help but tease, and who teases me back. You are the one whose heart I cherish more than any other gift, and the one who's capable hands I can entrust my own heart with.” She reached up to touch his face. “And I vow, going into our lives together as man and wife, to teach you how not to make a mess of my kitchen.” Adrien had to laugh, along with the whole wedding party, the crown following suit. “I vow to love you as you deserve to be loved: with admiration, adoration, passion, pragmatism and respect, and to treat you like the wonderful man that you are.” He leaned into her touch, pressing his cheek against her palm. “I vow to support your interests and nourish your passions: from fencing, to gaming, to rock climbing,” He smiled down at her. She continued, “up to and including randomly going to pet shops to meet the newest kittens and letting you try to convince me to adopt one or two, or three.” Adrien’s smile turned Cheeky. He was sure he would succeed one of these days. Her voice softened, “I vow to remain loyal to you physically, emotionally and spiritually. “I vow to take you seriously when you need to be taken seriously, and to laugh with you the rest of the time: because let’s face it, with your love of puns, I won't be capable of anything else.” The crowd chuckled again. “I vow to take care of you when you are exhausted, sick, or upset, or just when you forget to take care of yourself.” Adrien found himself kissing her knuckles again. “I vow to create a household and raise children with you as partners and as equals.” She moved her thumb on his cheek, catching a fallen tear, “I vow to wipe every tear you cry, love every moment we make, and taste every disaster you cook — even the ones that are unidentifiable.” His smile softened, knowing that while that was supposed to be funny, she was serious. “I vow to remain your friend as well as your lover, creating our lives from the little things, drinking coffee in the morning, massaging sore muscles in the evening, and holding hands throughout the day, understanding when to give in and when to push, having understanding for each other that will make our lives amazing, or at least the best we can make it.” He stared into her eyes wondering what he’d done to be so lucky. “And I vow to remain this way with you, growing old and always falling more and more in love with you as the days go by.” She paused, taking a moment as she began to choke up. “Adrien, you are not only the love of my life but also, you are my best friend,” she turned to her Maid of Honor adding, “Sorry Alya.”

Alya raised her bouquet, dismissively, “It’s all good, Girl. I’d rather kiss Nino anyway.”

Marinette turned back to her groom with a smile, becoming serious again. “And that is not something to be taken lightly. I love you to the moon and back, and I can’t wait to experience this world with you, from our honeymoon, to sending our children to university, to growing old and meeting our grandchildren.”

Her voice softened again, clasping Adrien’s hands in hers, as another tear fell down her cheek. “It gives me immeasurable joy, to know you are mine. And I am yours.”

At that, the officiant continued the ceremony. Adrien and marinette, however stopped listening to most of it. The stared at each other, waiting for the moment that they both longed for.

It took everything in them to remain still when all they wanted was to lose themselves in each other. All they wanted was to feel the other against them.

“You may now,” the officiant paused, seeing as he had their attention, “kiss the bride.”

Adrien wasted no time. Before anyone could blink, his left hand was buried in his wife’s- his wife’s hair, his right hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her around in a dip, so he held her weight completely. In the same moment, she buried her own hands in his hair, melting against him, trusting him completely, and losing herself in her husband.

-----

Get ready for tomorrow’s post of “Nicknames” with @aknazer!

#fan fiction #fanfic #ML Fluff Month #miraculous tales of ladybugs and cat noir #Miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #Adrienette #fluff #saoirse7ilysi #saoirse ilysi

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 6 years

Text

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 32: Admin

Summary: Planning a wedding is a hell of a job. Luck Genevieve and Jack have each other - and Genevieve’s sister - to help ease the stress.

AN: It’s Jack’s birthday and coincidentally Collins’ birthday because I said so. I’m going to try and update this more regularly since (including this chapter) there’s only nine chapters left. Bittersweet.

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Switching off the car engine, Genevieve took a moment to breathe. It was a rush at the bakeries after a phone call that had reminded her of the dress fittings were this afternoon and she’d only just found out (the day before, from Ethel) that it was Jack’s bloody birthday. A date so significant but he’d never mentioned it in letter or in person. Three months into wedding prep and only now did she find out? She felt rather shit for not asking beforehand.

She took a deep breath and pushed off the steering wheel to go inside. Kicking the door closed, she swung the bag about as she walked up the stairs to Jack’s flat. Hers was pretty abandoned at this point.

Opening the door, she stepped into the flat and tried not to groan at the sight of Jack with his finance tracker open.

“Are we thinking sandstone or eggshell napkins?” She joked upon entering.

“What? Clearly eggshell, anything otherwise would be insane,” Jack remained in his chair as Genevieve greeted him with a quick peck. Plonking herself in the chair opposite, she dumped the bag on the table with an over-dramatic sigh.

“I swear to God, Lilly is more into this wedding planning than I am,” She dropped her head onto a neglected wedding dress magazine Lilly had bought a week before.

Jack ran his fingers through her hair, covering his sniggering with a cough and looking at his piece of paper that was completely covered in scribbles, “She made me a checklist, you know: flowers, menu, venue, invites, table decorations… chair sashes.”

“What the fuck?” Genevieve lifted up her head slightly before dropping it back onto the table, “People put sashes on chairs? Why would you spend money on that?”

“Make the chairs look pretty,” Jack chuckled.

“People actually do that?” She sighed with disbelief at such people and their airy fairy ways, shaking her head for emphasis on her thoughts, “No, I don’t want to be outshined by a chair.”

“I highly doubt that could happen.”

Lifting her head, Genevieve shuffled her chair closer to Jack to lean against him. She called him a sweet talker then kissed his cheek in thanks for the compliment. Jack returned the kiss on her parting as he flipped the list aside and turned the page to show off the budgeting to his fiancé.

“I got a call back from the hotel and they say we can have the function room and the restaurant is ours too for a fraction extra,” He pointed to the possible deposit they could make on the venue, “Sure you don’t want to marry in a church?”

“No church,” Genevieve decided, opening the borrowed bridal magazine Lilly leant her.

“Your family ok with that?”

“Nope.”

“Are you doing it to piss them off?” Jack tried to catch Genevieve’s eye on this one.

Looking away as she shut the magazine, already bored to tears with the brides gushing about the styles of dresses, Genevieve replied, “Nah, I just don’t want to be shivering at the head of a stone cold aisle when I marry you.”

Jack felt a warm tingle in his stomach whenever Genevieve said that – which was a lot. She seemed to get a buzz out of bringing up their engagement too. When she looked back at him, she didn’t look bored or weary but buzzing behind the smile that brightened his day.

“What’s in the bag then?”

“Aha,” Genevieve sat up and brought the sides of the bag down to reveal many small pastry boxes, “Cake testers. All free. Happy Birthday.”

Eager to get some rest and ignore their ever diminishing budget, the pair spent their lunch break laying on the couch and tossing cake into their partner’s mouth to see what took their fancy. So far, they were rejecting the posh combinations simply because they sounded gross. Their mutual hypothesis was confirmed after they tasted the segments gifted to them.

“I still can’t believe you never told me your birthday when we met,” Genevieve spoke around a carrot cake before spitting it out.

“Didn’t think it was necessary, we’d just been evacuated,” Jack shrugged, swallowing his.

“Still, we could’ve gone out, maybe a proper dance hall instead of your living room, made a day of it,” Genevieve argued good-naturedly.

“Are you kidding? It was the best birthday I’d ever had!” Jack said incredulously, palms open to the sky with his fork balanced between his right thumb and forefinger, “Spent it dancing with you to Glenn Miller and eating my Ma’s cooking, nothing can top it.”

“What about this for the cake?” Genevieve tossed a chunk of chocolate cake into his mouth, “It was only two dances!”

“Nope,” Jack shook his head for emphasis, spitting the cake into his reject box, “And it was still the best birthday.”

“Bet I can top it. With three dances.”

“Three whole dances, gee miss soon-to-be missus!”

Genevieve giggled before trying another portion of the vanilla sponge, a second opinion, “Are you gonna be in your number ones? Or a suit?”

“We went with a suit. Match the boys. You?”

Genevieve tapped her nose with her fork and grinned. “Not fair, I told you!”

“I’m going for a fitting this afternoon. Maybe when I see the finished result I’ll feel more generous.”

Annoyed, Jack threw a piece of white sponge at Genevieve and he aimed it so that he deliberately missed her mouth. Genevieve groaned in annoyance and recovered the piece from her lap. It actually wasn’t bad so she opened her mouth in request for another piece.

“Simple yet delicious, I like it,” She commented. This prompted Jack to try some and to agree with her. The decision made, Genevieve sat up and brushed the crumbs off her front. It could be cleaned up later. Tomorrow. Oh, at some point in the future. Jack stood with her and showered his crumbs onto the carpet.

“When I’m back, we’ll make a date of it,” Genevieve squeezed his hands as they planned to go, “I promise.”

“Any day with you is a day made,” Jack kissed her cheek with a cheesy grin that said “you can’t be mad at me, it’s my birthday”.

Genevieve squinted at him in an attempt to mask her embarrassment, “You sicken me… kiss me again?”

Jack obliged and kissed her other cheek, “Have fun at your fitting.”

“Oh, I will,” Genevieve rolled her eyes as she took her leave from the flat, cane in hand to walk to the dress shop. Last minute changes to a wedding in a few weeks looming, it was gonna be another long afternoon.

It’d taken a while, well over an hour, of Genevieve fidgeting and chatting mindlessly to the dressmaker. She could barely stand it because there was never a less interesting conversation to partake in. Her legs jiggled and she was told to keep still many a time.

Worst part, there were no mirrors in sight so Genevieve couldn’t see what was going on. She eased her eager mind on trivial topics like whether she was going wear her grandmother’s veil or not.

But finally the dressmaker stuck one final pin into the netting and stepped back. Moving into the focal point of the three mirrors, Genevieve’s hands curled around the silky fabric that was to be her wedding dress. Her eyes stayed glued to her reflection. The tulle rested daintily on the white, the polka dots only spotted with the movements of the skirts and her hips. She could feel the movement against her knees. A translucent collar to highlight the sweetheart neckline, it was a fancy and expensive version of a dress Genevieve used to own.

Something she was comfortable in. That was the goal. And she was comfortable. But it was something more. She felt beautiful. With her hair messed with stress and pins and clips holding the material in place, barefoot in the back of the dress shop, she felt beautiful.

“Oh darling.”

Genevieve didn’t even notice her “bridal team” entering. Her mother instantly burst into tears after her comment. Lilly, Karen, Ethel and Cora passed hankies and comments amongst themselves, about how Jack was going to lose it, how Genevieve should have her hair done, if any more amendments were to be made about the length of the dress.

“Are you ok?” Lilly touched Genevieve’s shoulder, “You haven’t said a word.”

Her gaze was unfocused as she simply watched at the reflection. Normally, she would’ve rolled her eyes at all this attention and fussing but it was as if she was being open to the idea of a big white wedding for the first time.

“I’m fine,” She said blankly. Then a smile crossed her lips, “It’s just… I’m getting married.”

“Damn right you are,” Ethel grinned back.

Lilly squeezed her sister’s shoulders, careful with the material as she leant in and whispered, “If Jack doesn’t cry, I’ll get up and kick him until he does.”

“Thanks, Lilly,” Genevieve turned to her. They shared a smile, shoulders nudging together as they looked down at the dress’ skirts. Her trembling hands were resting on top of them, the polka dots highlighting the ring as her fingers twitched against the netting.

After a few more tears were shed, the dress was taken off her with measurements noted. Beryl was adamant to keep it from Jack and planned to pick it up in a week to keep at her house.

Her cane making a jaunty beat with her footsteps, Genevieve smiled the whole way home. She was absolutely in the mood to go out dancing, go to the pub, do whatever. She was getting married to Jack and that was all that really mattered at the moment. Not the weeding prep, not the house hunting, not the budgeting.

She very nearly kicked down the door to Jack’s flat, she was so exulted. But she bottlenecked her emotions into using the front door key like a regular person. Jack waved at them from his spot by the cabinet.

“Hey, love! Now I know you said you wanted to take me out, treat me to a dance hall, but honestly I’m good to just stay in.”

Ignoring this, Genevieve walked right up to Jack and hugged him tight. Her face leant into his neck. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what prompted this but he loved her hugs. They made him feel wanted. His arm tightened around her waist in a snug grip in hopes of reciprocating that feeling.

“I’ll do whatever you want, anything for your birthday. You name it and we’ll do it.” Genevieve pulled back and lined her nose to his with a grin so wide she thought it might fall off her face, “I love you.”

With a smile confused as to where this affectionate outburst, Jack kissed her softly and replied, “I love you too.”

Then he sidled over to the record player he get from his family for his birthday, “So, anything?”

Placing the needle on the record he’d already set up, he sidestepped back into the hug. A slow melody played from the box. It filled the room with a tune that had a signature flair to it. Genevieve begrudgingly recognised it but did not complain. The melody was nice.

“Practise our first dance?” Jack beamed, holding his arms out in a new position. Genevieve knew that they wouldn’t be having a first dance in front of people at a reception. It would be in the hotel room they booked for one night. She eagerly placed her hands in position for she couldn’t wait for that first dance.

“How was the dress fitting?” Jack asked with a teasing tone.

“Bit boring but,” Genevieve lingered on her connective, “It was lovely.”

“Lovely, eh? Feel more inclined to tell me about your dress now?”

“Nope,” Genevieve shook her head. Jack let out a moan of annoyance, his head lolling back. He begged again, asking for it for his birthday present and bringing up that she said she’d do anything for him. But Genevieve had inherited stubbornness from her mother and kept her mouth shut, knowing the pay off would be much sweeter. Jack knew this too and eventually buttoned his lip.

Their slow dance position shifted from clasped hands and straight postures to the pair embracing one another, barely shuffling to the tune.

Then a faster tune played up and Genevieve took this as her cue to mock Jack’s dance moves from years ago. He started to laugh and then he copied her, movements identical to 1940, and she was glad that he hadn’t improved. She would’ve looked like an idiot otherwise. Here, they looked like idiots together. Idiots about to get married.

Perma-tag: @tomgcsglasses, @lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @scottishlowden and @theres-no-paradise

Jack tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds and @johannalauraaa

Complementary tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics and @prettyboytgc

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden series #jack lowden x oc #jack lowden x reader #collins imagine #collins series #collins x oc #collins dunkirk #collins x reader #series #complementary #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk series #dunkirk #r: female #my writing

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magneticmage · 3 years

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Man, I'm seriously jn the mood to blabbering about the RWBY OC I made for a tabletop game that never got around to actually happening.

Here's some random tid-bits about her, Selene Argent

-She is the daughter of some robot scientist and a Huntress (both of whom I have yet to name). She has an older twin brother (also lacks a name at the moment) who went on to pursue a career in robotic design and engineering while she decided to go to Atlas Academy for final schooling as she wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps and the family is very proud of them both.

-She excelled in her classes and efforts and earned the friendship of her team, SDOW, whom she was named the leader of. Her partner (both romantic and literal) was another woman named Endemyion (Demi for short) Gray. The other two team members were men and also each other's partners in the same sense; Oberon Chang-Yue, who was an important politician and government official's son, and his Faunus partner Wang Tuzi. Their mentor is named Professor Mani (Full name is Mani Luna), an older bloke who only retired from the frontlines of the war against the Grimm because his wife, Soleil, asked him to help her raise her orphaned niece (the mother, her sister, had perished from illness).

-Selene's Semblance is called Moon Cycle. It allows her to "cycle" through a mental list of different objects (various dust-arrow and ammo types, clothes and snacks, notebook and pencils and school supplies etc, etc.) as determined by her "phase", which is just her deciding which situation she's in (combat, school, professional and personal social circles, etc.). Upon selecting an item, she then pulls it from where it is stored (an object, her Aura, somewhere) and uses it as needed before returning it to the list. She can, naturally, add-or remove by not using them- items by forming an emotional attachment to them or from holding onto them for a whole day. It helps keep her organized and "on track" and, later, after the tragedy that happens her First Team, she uses it as a way to compartmentalize her feelings into manageable and functional sections that don't interact. At least, nothing until she finally opens up to her new team and begins to heal her wounds and trauma.

-Originally, she could only use a single item when she first discovered her Semblance at four (her favorite toy for playtime) but it began to grow in complexity as she grew as well (a special fluffy maroon blanket for bedtime, a blue and red polka-dotted lunchbox for school, a white ribbon bracelet for her best friend and twin, etc.). By the time she reached the Academy, she could manage 3 to 5 items. She believes that the max is probably something like 12, since that's the total number of moon phases (in our world at least), mayyyyybe 13 if you want to count eclipses.

-Demi's Semblance is called Fall Back and allows them to mark a place with their symbol to designate as "home" to return to upon activation of the Semblance. It took a great deal of time and training before she managed to learn how to bring others with her so long as she had some physical attachment to them (like her weapon's whip extension) and to increase the physical distance she could be away from the marker before needing to make another one (about a few miles by the time the tragedy strikes)

-Oberon's Semblance called Reflection and allows him to halve any damage/effect he takes with whomever attacks him, thus "reflecting" it. Based on the fact that the Sun reflects light off the moon and so it isn't as strong of a light like that. Or something.

-Wang's Semblance is called Experiment. It allows him to McGyver an object out of whatever's on hand or mix various dust types to create new and interesting combinations.

-Professor Mani's Semblance is called Chastise and allows him to lecture on what a person did wrong and then make their next attempt much more likely to succeed. Or so he says when Selene asked about it.

-Selene's initial weapon is a sniper-rifle/recurve bow she named Night's Fury. After the events surrounding the loss of her teammates (both physically and metaphorically) and her teacher, she takes a more "back to basics" approach and opts for a more simpler weapon design of dual curved swords that can join together to make her bow. She reformed it from parts she could scavenge from the destruction of her previous weapon and renamed it Eclipse. Demi's weapon is called Light's Veil and is a whip-pistol. She often used it to link between enemies and allies to shuffle them along the battle zone as well as increase her own mobility while firing off a few rounds here and there. She also used it to pull Selene around corners for the occasional impromptu make-out session. Oberon named his flail-shotgun Comet's Folly because the first time he used it to attack an enemy to show off to some pretty people ended up with him smacking himself in his head and looking like a complete dumbass for a few minutes before gathering himself again and sending his enemy flying. Wang's weapon was a pot-cannon named Hare's Harvest that he used to mix dust and ammo for fun technicolor explosions, among other effects. He also liked making small fireworks in them. Professor Mani's weapon is a stun baton-revolver pistol named Intervention because he liked to keep things classy and old-fashioned. He also adored puns to no end.

-Each of them had a color scheme but all of them incorporated SDOW's black as a unifying element. Demi was primarily blue with black and red secondary colors. Oberon was gold (yellow) and had black and green secondary colors. Wang had jade (green) and had black and yellow as secondary colors. Upon becoming team leader, Selene chose red as her primary color, often using the black and blue colors of her team and partner as accents. Post-tragedy, she now wears purple as a primary color with the black and red as secondary colors as a way to recall what she has lost. With character development and her eventual path to healing, she returns to the bright crimson red she used to wear, but softens/accents it with a very small bit of purple and a much larger portion of whatever colors are her new team's. Her professor wore a great deal of white and yellow and was more than happy to add a splash of black to his attire to be associated with his students.

-The Tragedy mentioned at various points above was that her team was sent on a supposed to be relatively and routinely easy mission towards the end of their first year at Atlas under their teacher's guidance. It was not, and did not, go according to plan.

-The mission sounded simple enough; investigate why one of the minor mining operation facilities hasn't reported in for the last couple weeks and secure their shipments back to Mantle-and Atlas. Nothing too difficult. Perhaps the Faunus workers had gone on strike again or perhaps some a few Grimm had appeared and were giving the robotic guards some trouble. Not a hard job for an aspiring Huntress and her team.

-Selene was nervous about going underground into some dust mining tunnels due to the enclosed space and her weapon being more suited for open spaces as she lacked a proper melee or close-range weapon, but was reassured when Demi set "home" at the entrance. They then proceeded into the tunnels. Defeating the low-level Grimm was fairly easy and they quickly began to enjoy themselves, relaxing into the familiar rhythm and even maybe cracking a few jokes. Naturally, this was a mistake when they reached the heart of the mining operation.

-A very powerful Grimm, infused and embedded with variously colored dust crystals, had taken over the facility and was using its long appendages/mental-affecting abilities to manipulate the few surviving workers to gather more dust while feeding off their unrest.

-I haven't quite figured out everything regarding the Grimm Boss-Monster mentioned above but it could be anything from something like the Apathy to something like the Nuckaleve is along my line of thought for those curious.

-Upon figuring out/seeing the Grimm, Mani realizes just how out of their league they all are instantly and quickly has his students start to fall back. One of the workers spotted him and called for Mani's help to rescue him and the others. Naturally, being the do-gooder he is, he obliged and told his students to focus in eliminating the smaller Grimm and escorting the frightened workers to safety while he handles the bigger threat. Okay, so things are still on track and looking pretty good even after such a set back, right?

-Wrong.

-Upon getting the last of the workers to safety on the waiting airship, Selene realizes it has been some time since they last heard from their teacher and decides to go back in and help him handle the monster. After all, he could need their help and that's what Huntresses and Huntsmen do; kill Grimm and protect people. The team agrees and naturally follow her back into the tunnels.

-Bad idea.

-They make it back to the area just as they see Mani's Aura break and quickly move to help him, despite his protests of danger. They all do fairly well against the creature, dodging it's long armored claws and resisting whatever mental influences it used to keep the workers obedient. Even when it calls for reinforcements of other nearby Grimm, they still manage to make it about halfway back to the airship with their upset teacher in tow.

-And then it happens.

-Selene isn't sure what came first; the sound of her weapon's gun jamming as the Grimm bears down on her or Demi's scream as Mani moves in front of her to block the blow. What she does remember is that for a split second, everything was fine and she could see her mentor's head tilted towards her to mouth something (she never found out what he said) and then the clink of dust crystals shattering on impact with the steel surface of his weapon.

-Cue an explosion big enough that it results in the tunnel collapsing and leaves her with a broken Aura and a heavily wounded teacher. Luckily, it also kills the Big Grimm Monster.

-Shaking off the disorientation as best she can, she looks for her teammates as rocks begin to fall around them. There's a scream and she watches, helpless and hurt and in shock, as a large boulder fell on Oberon's leg, crushing it and drawing the Grimm towards them even as true panic begins to grip them all as they realize the grim (hehehe grim hehehe) situation they are in.

-Demi yells at her to do something and she snaps back into action. Putting her teacher's arm around her shoulders, she has Wang drag Oberon with them as they make a run for it. She tells Demi to prepare to Fall Back and to cover them as best she can while they make their way to her.

-Then the Grimm are upon them and all she can see is Dust and Grimm and does her best to keep her team alive. And then one of the Grimm's claws snaps her bow clean in half. She screams in fear and can't recoil back enough to avoid the next strike to her face. She can feel her teacher move forward as she stumbles back, clutching at her right eye as red lands below her, fills her sight, flows through the air in the dark, dark tunnel.

-And then she's jerked back by a whip around her waist and lands flat on her back at Demi's feet. She sets a hand on her partner's free arm as she struggles to her feet and doesn't dare look back behind her to see what became of Mani's fate, can't look back, refuses to look bacm. Demi, whose own Aura is glowing around her like a bright blue star, all warmth and light, and she quickly throws back her whip again to reach for Wang and Oberon even as a Grimm lunges for them.

-Too late, Oberon is torn away from Wang as the Grimm collides and drags him the ground. Just as the whip ensures Wang's safety as the world glows blue and begins to spin around them. Selene blinks as the snow of Solitas gently falls on their wounded and injured forms just as another loud explosion rocks the earth below them. The last of the cave-in, sealing the tombs of her fallen teammate and professor.

-Their airship filled with miners is long gone and she knows full well that the scroll she calls to her hand isn't shaking from fear anymore as she hands it to a distraught Wang and gives him one simple order, "Call for help."

-That calm lasts only long enough for her to catch her partner as Demi collapses beside her. She has fresh bleeding wounds, and Selene realizes just as Demi does that they were one person too many to carry and, worse, further underground than they thought. She barely remembers much if their rescue by the Huntsman in a white coat with a purple bandana over his sleeve, simply trying to keep her fading partner awake and alive.

-When all is said and done over the next few weeks, Demi slips into a coma that she does not wake from while Wang leaves the Academy and swears to never be a Huntsman again, to never see a Grimm again. He goes on to take up engineering and science, still torn by the fact that he has to still do something to aid the cause against the vile monsters that took his first love from him. Selene herself even almost puts down her weapons for good after seeing the scars and new prosthetic eye, a reminder of what she lost by making such a rash decision. A visit from her mother has her realizing the full extent of what Huntresses and Huntsman sacrifice for others, of what her mother risks to protect her. And why that matters. How it can be just as much a struggle to do nothing when you feel so lost as it is to take a breathe and move forward. That it is okay to step away and start over when you are only human.

-She spends much of her body's recovery and physical therapy turning those words over in her head. No one would blame her for stopping and putting down her weapons after such an experience. No one would look twice at the fear and grief and pain she fails to hide because they expect it. They fear it, too, that reminder of what the Grimm can do to people. What loss can do.

-But then she remembers how her mother makes sure to call her father the first chance she gets on every mission, smiles when she is reminded of what she is fighting so hard to protect, embraces her children in such a way that it is unmistakable that it is all worth it. And she thinks, I am alive and I can make it worth it. I can make the world safer, even if it's just for a little while. I can be a Huntress still.

-So, she gathers up her shattered weapons and rebuilds, at first with shaking hands and tears falling down her cheeks as she brushes a soft shade of blue across the red metal, watching the purple crescent moon come to life where it once was red. Perhaps, one day, she will be able to stand on her own again. To be a leader and a hero like she once was, but for now she will remember her mistake and focus on preventing others from sharing her losses as a teammate.

-And so Selene Argent, broken and cold in her grief, with a mis-matched pair of eyes and reforged but makeshifted simple weapons, returns to her roots. To enroll all over again as a Huntress, to remember why she fights the Grimm, to hope for a day she can say "I am stronger for my loss and I will get stronger still" without feeling the sharp prickle of tears in her left eye.

-And so she enrolls in another Academy to begin the cycle of Hunting anew.

#my ocs #my RWBY oc #Selene Argent #Team SDOW #my writing things #cw blood #cw death #blood cw #cw loss of an eye #this got a bit more drabble/fic-y than expected #cw coma #cw loss

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wineanddinosaur · 5 years

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Pinterest Feminism and the Quietly Revolutionary History of Bar Carts

No matter who you are, or what social media platforms you frequent, it’s statistically very likely that you or someone you know has a Pinterest board with an image of a vintage gold bar cart.

You can already picture it, right? A copper pineapple-shaped cocktail shaker, some peonies in a vase, a bottle of St. Germain, and a Kate Spade gold polka dot wall in the background.

On Pinterest, saves for “gold bar carts” saw a 300 percent increase between January to June 2017 and January to June 2018. And the #barcart hashtag on Instagram? It’s soaring with over 118,000 posts total, and there are 20 gold bar carts laced with twinkle lights for every wood or metal option.

The cart du jour has a spirited, aggressively feminine look. It’s a far cry from a macho “Mad Men” aesthetic, despite the 2007 show coinciding with the last bar cart resurgence.

In reality, bar carts have always belonged to women. They might seem silly or indulgent or ubiquitous on the internet now, but they have long provided a source of pride and identity for the women who used them.

Bar carts have Mason jar-esque appeal: They connect us to a past that was far from ideal, and give us the opportunity to reclaim and repurpose it.

Early years and a quasi-beloved relative

The bar cart’s crotchety ancestor is the tea trolley, which was big in the late 1800s and a cornerstone at Victorian-era tea parties. In typical upper-class homes, a maid would wheel out some loose tea and scones on a simple, dignified mahogany cart. The hostess would chat with her guests about cucumber sandwiches and such, as their corsets and arsenic veils slowly killed them.

Entertaining was essential to an otherwise idle, turn-of-the-century upper-class life. The tea cart stood strong in the early 20th century, especially during Prohibition. It remained in private homes all the way through the early ’30s — even though, by that point, nobody had money and most young women were beginning to see tea time as, well, a little antiquated.

Once Prohibition ended, the bar cart arrived, but slowly, and without too much fanfare. Extraneous furniture, not to mention alcohol, was a luxury in the Depression-era ’30s and wartime ’40s. The bar cart’s golden years were yet to come.

Mid-century party

It’s the 1950s, baby, and everyone’s ready to party! The rise of the American middle class brought in-home cocktail soirees to the suburbs. Yes, there were also utilitarian office bar carts where a man could have a Manhattan, another Manhattan, and an affair with his secretary. We’ll get there. The cart was a vital part of domestic entertaining and, in a hetero household in the 1950s, that space belonged to housewives.

Jen Benson owns vintage barware shop Retro Reclaimations in Leland, N.C., and is fascinated by the origins and contexts of furniture and fashion. Benson thinks the roles of 1950s housewives were more complex than we tend to believe.

“She was the CEO of the home and the kitchen served as her corner office where she organized and executed every detail of family life,” Benson says. “The bar cart was essential to home entertaining — that reflected a well-organized and thoughtful hostess.”

Turns out, entertaining stylishly had a lot of exhaustive protocol, from invites, to food preparation, to choosing which cocktails to serve (typically, two options, Benson says).

The bar cart “served as a platform where the cocktail recipes and all ingredients, from garnishes and ice-filled buckets to cocktail shakers and swizzle sticks, were set up so everything needed to prepare drinks was readily accessible,” Benson says. “The presentation was just as important as having the correct barware on hand, as everything was a reflection on the hostess.”

Essentially, a mid-century housewife had a performative ritual with the bar cart: It was her tool kit for the perfect party, and having those items on hand was essential. While today’s bar carts do have performative aspects, women’s role — and the sociocultural landscape — has shifted.

Screens brought bar carts back

Cut to 2011. The world is four years past “Mad Men,” and one year past the launches of two photo-sharing platforms, Instagram and Pinterest. The stage was set for the bar cart to reemerge. Roxy Te, founder of Society Social, a furniture design firm in North Carolina, launched her company with six original bar carts.

“I’m an avid reader of design publications,” Te says. She noticed that many people were blogging about bar carts (“this was back in 2010,” she says), but no one could say where to buy one that was affordable and well-maintained. “I knew there was a huge gap in the market that I could go after, I latched onto it,” Te says. When she debuted Society Social in August 2011, her tag line was “the bar cart is back!”

“The Bar Cart is Back” is, incidentally, also the name of Society Social’s bar cart Pinterest board. It has more than 17,650 followers and offers a vivid, intoxicatingly beautiful world. That informs another concept: There’s still a love for appearances, but this time, the bar cart is all about personalization — and the rise of lifestyle culture means we can share our aesthetics outside the home.

Wheeling in identity

Like tea and cocktail parties, social media is rife with customs and rituals that can be difficult for outsiders and newcomers to decipher. It’s how we connect with old friends, make new ones, and chat and entertain today. In the 2010s, we no longer reside in Victorian sitting rooms or pastel suburban homes. We live on the internet. Bar carts endure, and there are big issues riding on those four wheels.

In January 2019, when Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez publicly shared her skin care routine, commentators praised it as a feminist statement. The message? Women can enjoy something as classically feminine as wearing makeup, or pinning bar carts, while maintaining myriad other interests.

Turns out women, like all people, have always contained multitudes. You might be a successful economist who wears mascara. You might also be a smart, talented engineer who, in her free time, enjoys styling a vintage bar cart beneath a lopsided banner that says, “Cheers, babes” in copper-toned glitter letters. There may be no such thing as “having it all”; but, did you maybe want another drink? In vintage glassware? You got it.

Cheers, babes, indeed.

The post Pinterest Feminism and the Quietly Revolutionary History of Bar Carts appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/bar-carts-pinterest-feminism/

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