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luveline · 1 year

Note

maybe for zombie Steve au, there’s some sort of emergency at the college so there’s like a lockdown ish but Steve & reader get split up & then have an emotional reunion? 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

thank you so much for your request! I took a smide of inspo from scenes of twd (specifically when the prison fence gets it shit rocked) steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 5k words

"And you…" You pause, tongue sticking out as you struggle to tuck your shirt into your jeans. "You smoked?"

Steve laughs where he's shrugging into his own jeans. You're both very late.

"Everyone smoked junior year."

"I didn't."

"No, of course you didn't," he says, laughing more. It's a nice sound to hear so early in the morning. You can almost pretend you're well-rested.

"I didn't," you say emphatically, leaning against the wall by the door to slip on your sneakers.

It doesn't matter if you're telling the truth, Steve clearly doesn't believe you. He mirrors your actions and puts on his own pair of sneakers. They were white, once upon a time, but now they're a gritty grey. You stand tall in unison and pull open the door.

"Wait," Steve says.

He brushes your hair out of your face, looking over each of your features casually before his fingers dip down to your belt. You startle on instinct, though he's only fixing the mess you'd made of your tucked shirt. His fingers push under your belt methodically, efficiently. In less than a minute he's done.

Neither of you bother with a jacket. Steve pockets the keys and the door locks behind you, the two of you half jogging out of Little Hawkins to the front of the building.

"I'll be at the north fence all day, okay, so if you need me, come and find me. You're–"

"In the pantry where I always am," you say, "and I'll be fine, so you don't let anything bite you and I'll see you at dinner."

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve says, catching your wrist before you can part ways.

He pulls you in by the arm until he can grab your shoulders. He does altogether too much looking, eyes raking over your face, your neck. He meets your eyes, cups your cheek in both hands.

"I love you," he says quickly, "I love you," —he kisses you wonky, lips way too close to your nose, "I love you. See you at dinner."

He's sick in the head. He doesn't give you any time to answer or bestow the heaping of affection he deserves, simply splits and power walks away from you.

You sigh, wringing your hands together. "Steve! I– I love you too!"

He turns around, his smile ridiculously big, and waves at you. You wave back.

He races out of view. You try not to make eye contact with the people milling around outside of the dorm building and pick up the pace, running down the street to the cafeteria building.

The town hall is alive in the mornings, and class is in session, more kids than you'd ever expected to see again in your lifetime all bundled up in one room. You think it's nice, the way they teach them here. They don't bother with algebra or arithmetic, though Sammy the 'teacher' offers tutoring to anybody who wants it, they just draw and play and talk about emotional wellbeing. Sometimes there are survival classes, but they don't really talk about geeks. They show the kids what wild flora is edible, or how to wrap a cut. You think it's probably more for routine than actual teaching.

"Hi, Sammy," you say.

She smiles, and you're horrified as she says, "Hi, baby. Class, say good morning."

All the kids say good morning to you. You flush with heat from top to bottom. Their cute little faces beaming up at you is an instant disarming.

"Hi, kids," you say, waving.

Hands holding crayons and pencils wave back at you.

You make your way into the kitchen, which is a huge industrial affair connected to an otherwise small cafeteria. Maybelle and Pauline are already inside cleaning up the leftover breakfast and preparing for community dinner.

Breakfast is specifically for the people inside the community who can't manage to make it themselves, the disabled, the injured, the elderly, but dinner is for everybody.

"Sorry I'm late," you say.

"Hun, we don't care," Maybelle says.

"Did you want breakfast?" Pauline asks. "I'm gonna wrap this up otherwise. Somebody's gonna eat it."

It sounds like a threat. You take some of the breakfast they've set aside, which isn't a breakfast food at all, just boxed mac and cheese that tastes slightly stale. You barely notice it anymore, though the texture gives you the heebies.

You move into the pantry and check everything still there, the easiest and most useless part of your job. Then, Maybelle and Pauline try to put together a meal that's both cost effective (the cost being the energy expended to retrieve the food, and the likelihood that this food will be seen again) and not disgusting. Oftentimes they have to make a bunch of different stuff that doesn't go together, but it's better than nothing. You like this a whole lot more than if they just gave everybody a can a day and said there's your lot.

You mark down the things they've taken. You mark down things you might need in Hopper's next supply rub. It's a super cushy job, the kind that isn't strictly necessary, but there are a lot of people in the community and the majority are willing to do what needs to be done. They ran out of jobs quickly, and you're sure Hopper had felt a little sorry for you, so here you are. You're not like Steve. You're not a survivor. You're lucky.

You sit down after a while, no use pretending you have anything left to do, left side pressed to the side of the industrial oven.

"You know, we used to live in Mississippi?" Pauline asks you.

"What?" you ask.

"Mm-hm, we were only in Michigan for vacation, if you can believe it. We had a good time."

"Before, the uh, the apocalypse," Maybelle says with a tittering laugh. "We were hiking in the Porcupine Mountains when some dude tried to bite me. We thought he had rabies."

The room smells like jarred pasta bake, a rich, garlic-thick smell that threatens to make your eyes droop. In the cafeteria, through the open shutters, you can hear the kids singing. Sammy hates nursery rhymes, so they learn the words of old songs by Louis Armstrong. Today, they're a discordant, too fast chorus of What a Wonderful World. It's a racket.

But no matter how loud the kids sings, they can't cover the reverberations of a gunshot.

A hush falls in the kitchen.

You stand up. You aren't panicked, exactly. More like you've stepped into a heavy overcoat, trepidation a weight that settles like a second skin. You move to stand by the sink with Maybelle. She pushes it open, and the three of you stare outside.

Trees rustle in the wind. The kids descend into giggles as Matthew, one of the rare teenagers who deigns to join in, busts out a Louis Armstrong impression, his voice deep and bending. The oven hums.

The second gunshot sounds. After that, you can't count them.

Maybelle slams the window closed and twists the handle down to lock it.

Your heart beats. None of you know what to say. Your pulse bumps, and bumps, and bumps.

"Lock the doors," Maybelle says. "Lock the windows. Just in case."

Gunfire comes fast and ferocious as a sudden downpour, popping in the near distance. Your footsteps clip over the linoleum floor, firm rubber soles like an elastic band as you bound into the cafeteria and meet Sammy's eyes.

The kids are perturbingly quiet.

"I'm gonna lock the doors," you say tentatively.

Dread fills her face. "Okay. Alright."

You fizz around the room, locking the front and side entrances one after another. You're thinking so many things at once that you can't seem to focus on any, and instead your attention is drawn to the inconsequential. How cold the metal on the door's emergency push bars are. The colouring books on the floor.

You're standing in front of the last door with shaking hands as it gets thrown open. You gasp and scrabble backwards, hands in front of your chest to protect yourself.

It's Joyce. Breathless, red in the face Joyce.

"Lock the kids in the kitchen," she says. "The north fence has a leak. They're getting in."

—

Steve is not having the good day he thought he'd be getting.

You'd been exceptionally pretty this morning, tired eyed and disorientated but adorable through and through. You and Steve have fallen into a routine, and you talk so much it's a surprise your throats aren't sore. There's so much to say and never enough time to say it; you've taken to trading stories in the morning while you get dressed. Today was Steve's turn. He'd told you all about his birthday party during junior year, how his dad had almost killed him because somebody left a hole in the wall, and how he still can't eat Dunkin' Donuts without feeling queasy. You'd asked him when the last time he actually got to eat a donut was, and it hadn't been sad, like you might expect.

He'd said, "I don't need any extra sweetness, are you kidding? Got all my sugar right here."

You'd laughed at him (not with him) and nearly choked on toothpaste.

That's a perfect morning for Steve. That's as good as they get. It might be silly, but he'd felt damn good, and foolishly tricked himself into thinking the rest of the day might be similarly great.

"You're a fool, Harrington," he mutters to himself.

"What was that?"

Steve looks up. Jonathan and Christopher are staring at him.

"He's going crazy," Christopher says. "Best take him out to the back shed."

"Funny." Steve kicks the dirt in front of him. "So bored I'm talking to myself," he admits.

"It could be worse," Jonathan says. "We could be on latrine duty."

Steve would rather not think about latrine duty. God bless the communal bathroom in Little Hawkins.

The day is breezy but surprisingly warm, not a cloud in the sky. The sun bears down and heats Steve's skin in waves. He likely should've stopped for his jacket this morning, but he'd been super late. He doesn't want a citation. Another citation.

This is the slowest day they've ever seen on fence duty. Usually the general hubbub of the community catches the attention of a handful of geeks, and fence duty stabs them through the brain with lethally modified crowbars. It's gross, but it's necessary. It keeps you safe. Yet today they haven't seen a single undead.

"Maybe they're dying," Christopher says.

"They're already dead," Jonathan says.

"How do you know? You felt for a pulse?"

"They decompose," Jonathan says, laughing softly. "They're corpses."

"I'm just saying." Christopher shrugs.

Steve ignores them both without malice, staring through the section of chain link fence he's standing in front of and out into the streets. The north side of The College faces the surrounding town. From here, he can see a pharmacist's building, a sandwich shop, and a small veterinary clinic. Shells of cars long dismantled line the road. Natural works to reclaim them slowly, tires threaded with long grass. A few days ago, a deer ran straight up to the fence and stared at him. He promised you he'd come and find you next time, even though you hadn't really minded. He wants you to see it. There's more out there than just geeks and bad people.

He shivers and fiddles with the holster on his hip, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes that the gun held within has the safety mechanism on. He really doesn't wanna shoot himself in the foot. That would majorly suck, though, he thinks, you'd look after him. That might make it worth it.

Not that he'd shoot himself in the foot for your attention, that would be totally backwards. But he thinks you'd look cute as a nurse, with the little hat—

"Do you hear that?" Jonathan asks.

Steve pulls away from his questionable thoughts and turns to see his kind of friend. Jonathan stands with his nose to the fence, straight brown hair curling at the bottom of his neck. He needs a trim, but who is Steve to judge?

"Hear what?" Steve asks.

Though you can see the town through the gaps, the fences are blanketed by trees. Old trees with thick trunks, the kind that protesters would chain themselves to if the government ever suggested cutting them down. The ground around them is more dirt than grass, like the packed earth under the fence and Steve's shoes.

He assumes Jonathan's talking about the creaking of a thousand branches in the wind. Brown and orange leaves fall in droves, crinkly and scratchy as they litter the floor.

"I can't hear anything," Steve says.

"It sounds like a car engine," Jonathan says.

Steve cannot agree. Now that the world is silent, car engines sound like jet planes. They shake the ground. There are no vibrations to be felt, but… there is something.

"I'm gonna walk the perimeter," Steve says. A creeping unease takes shape over his shoulders like the winding suffocation of a python. He can feel the pressure of it against his throat.

It's nothing, he thinks to himself.

Sections of street flash between the trees. Tree, empty street. Tree, empty street. Each tree blocks the sun, and goosebumps erupt over his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up with each footstep into the dimness. Steve pulls his crowbar close to his chest.

I'm paranoid, he promises himself, even as the strange sound Jonathan had heard begins to rise. He knows what it is, he knows, but he doesn't want to know. The wet suck of meat being pulled off the bone, and the dry rattle of lungs that won't fill. He lets the sun kiss his cold face for a moment, and then he stops behind the cover of a huge sycamore tree and leans, carefully, slowly, to the left.

The sun hasn't warmed the sparse grass. Each blade is frosted into spikes. The leaf litter has turned to mulch, disturbed and churned by the body splayed open atop it. Blood emulsifies the dirt, a black mud that covers the hands, arms, knees, and mouths of a sizable herd.

Steve flinches backward, covers his nose to shield himself from the stink, and swiftly presses stiff fingers over his mouth to stop himself chucking up.

There must be fifty or more geeks huddled there, fighting for scraps of ligament, falling over chunks of inedible veel.

Steve wants to retreat quietly. His hands have other ideas.

He drops the crowbar, fumbling for it with every centimetre it falls, and ends up knocking it a couple feet away with a horrified gasp.

The fences are hammered into the ground so they can't be moved, but there aren't many fence posts between sections. Flimsy chain link is all that separates Steve and the herd.

They look up. They start to move.

Hands reach for him, hands force themselves through the holes of the fence, skin peeling back over muscle like the delicate rind of a pear. He watches in horror as the herd congregates, as the herd leans its collective weight against what's basically chicken wire, as dessicated flesh shaves off of their dead bodies, as the fence begins to bend.

The geeks use each other like ladder, pulling and climbing, heaped like jenga tiles until a gnarled hand closes over the top of the fence.

He wants to run. He needs to stay. He needs to separate them, he needs to thin the weight. He scrambles to take up his crowbar again, taking a step forward, but the tattle tale sound of metal scratching against metal squeals in his ear, and he leaps backward as the fence tips forward.

He should scream.

He trips as he grabs the crowbar, palm aching as it smashes into the ground. He barely touches the floor, pushing himself back up and using his momentum to sprint toward the rendezvous point.

"Jonathan!" he shouts, his voice strained. "They're over the fence. Section twenty one is coming down!" The fence has already come down, but Steve isn't thinking straight.

Jonathan barely looks at Steve. He only needs one glance before he's looking past him. Steve looks back, too, and then he keeps on sprinting.

Jonathan unholsters his gun. Christopher does the same.

Behind Steve, across the stretch of the college campus, a wave of geeks snap their gored maws. Steve runs harder than he's ever ran before, faster than he's ever moved, even faster than that night in the woods with you, scroungers on your tail, laughing and cussing, their flashlights shining at your heels like the beam of a prison guardhouse.

Steve vaults himself over an overgrown hedge and right into the centre of the campus. There aren't many people out, but any at all is too many.

"Get inside!" he shouts without explanation, shoes sliding over stone as he leaps for the civil defence siren nestled against the gym building. "Get inside! There are geeks inside the fence!"

Jeremy and Dustin had jerry-rigged the broken siren months ago for situations like this to only play for two seconds. Not long enough to attract anything that isn't already here. Steve slams his hand into the button and stares up at it in a petrified awe as the siren begins to cry, one long and wailing wave of sound that careers over the community.

It might be his imagination, but he thinks that the silence after it stops is imbued with impending doom. One empty, fragile moment, before the shouting begins, and the following pop of gunfire is impossible to ignore.

He thinks of you in the kitchen across the quad. He thinks of running to you, of hiding you somewhere nobody will ever get to you.

He runs back the way he came.

—

All these little faces in disarray. You huddle amongst the youngest ones and try your best to keep them quiet, whispering a story as the sound of gunshots cracking over asphalt rivets the quiet.

"Me and Steve, we saw all kinds of fish. We saw carp, and salmon, and koi fish in the lake. They looked like huge, gorgeous goldfish, they had–" everyone jumps as something close by takes a hit, a fence perhaps, split apart— "these huge black eyes and these popping mouths. You know how fish pop their lips together?"

You look around the circle and beg one of them to answer. If Sammy weren't such a wicked shot she would've stayed and handled this a hell of a lot better than you are.

"I know," says one of the youngest girls. She can't be six years olds.

"Yeah? How do they do it?"

She starts to pop her lips. You grin despite your welling panic and nod encouragingly. You'd clap if your hands weren't full of smaller hands.

"Yeah, like that! They were swimming so close to us, I could see their gills."

Your story isn't true, but it is distracting. You hold their attention for as long as you can. Pauline stands in the doorway, eyes flitting between the three entrances to the cafeteria, and Maybelle haunts the sink, hiding just behind the other overhead spray to try and find out what's going on. The storm siren hasn't sounded again, and Hopper hasn't come around to tell you it's safe.

It might never be safe again.

You swallow down the urge to scream and squeeze the tiny fingers curled over your palm. They belong to a little boy, white and brown-haired with pretty hooded eyes. He looks like Steve.

You could've sworn, just before the siren, that you'd heard him yelling, but you'd raced to the sink and looked out and hadn't seen him.

You can't help thinking about it. About everything — he could die. He could already be dead. Joyce swore she hadn't seen him, and had only managed to speak to Christopher, who'd split off to alert the older group. She said Jonthan was holding off a group of geeks. She couldn't stay, determined to go help him.

So if Christopher was looking for Hopper, and Jonathan was by himself at the north fence, where was Steve? Where exactly was the leak?

You lean forward toward the kids and whisper, "Does anyone else have a story? From a vacation?"

"We went to Niagara Falls, once," Becky says.

"You did? What was it like, huh? Was the waterfall really loud?"

Becky starts to tell her story. You try to listen. You can't think of anything at all besides Steve, though your priority is keeping everybody here safe, your brain won't stop. You can't shake the feeling that you'll lose him, and it's a bright red branding behind your eyes. You're gonna lose him.

This can't be happening.

It's been a month since Connor, an ex-member of The College with delusions of grandeur, dragged you underdressed and freezing through miles of forest with your wrists bound, wondering if you'd ever see Steve again. A month of nightmares and hot flashes and reaching out for Steve in the dark.

You'd thought, if you died, if Connor killed you, that it would ruin Steve's life. He'd waste it looking for you. You'd thought that was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd leave him behind.

You hadn't understood what this part felt like. How Steve must've felt, wondering if you were dead. How he must've argued with himself as you do now.

Steve hadn't hesitated. Robin mentioned it once, casual but earnest. Steve tore the place apart looking for you. He assembled a search party and went looking for you on a hunch. Steve says he's lucky they chose the right direction. You know it's more than that. You know you're the lucky one.

He knew you were in danger, and he came to get you.

"Maybelle," you say, standing up. "I'm gonna need a knife."

—

Steve isn't sure what the fuck they're doing. Hopper shouts instructions but they're confusing and nobody knows what's happening. Geek gore drips down his arm and he prays he doesn't have any broken skin as he ploughs the sharp of the crowbar deep into a grey mottled eye socket.

It shucks out, the geek's body collapsing in a heap at his feet. Tens more stagger forward.

"Everyone should be inside, but that doesn't mean everyone is inside!" Hopper shouts, his booming voice echoing over the din of shots and slick stabbing. "We need to contain them. Joyce, Jonathan, I need you back here. Bernier, Taylor, McCoy, push for the fence! We need to get it back up and standing before this gets worse. Harrington!"

Steve pierces the skull of an approaching geek like an eggshell, springing back before a second can tear a chunk out of him. "What?" he yells.

"You should circle back to the quad, make sure there aren't any stragglers."

"Joyce already secured–"

"It's up to you, kid."

Steve appreciates what Hopper's doing. Everyone knows you and Steve are unhealthily dependent on one another right now considering the circumstances, and he'll admit that his heart wants literally nothing more than to be where you are. He thinks of you locked up in the kitchen with all this happening outside and hates it, but as long as you stay where you are, that's as safe as you can be.

He doesn't bother saying yes or no, throwing himself back into the throng.

It's the ultimate workout. Sweat stings his eyes, his brain pounds behind them. He has to stay vigilant and he has to be fast. He cuts down geeks with a practised agility, Bernier on one side, Taylor the other. They force their way to the fence, and soon there's a small army of survivors behind them, bullets burning his eardrum to the right.

When the fence is finally in view again, they buckle down.

It's a huge struggle. Hopper and Livingstone front a team of five of the older guys with a replacement fence on their literal shoulders. The woods are teaming with geeks who must have heard the gunfire and the siren. They cut down the old fence behind Steve and the youngers. The new one gets thrown up just as Steve spears a geek through the ear, hammers whacking into frozen earth with a sound like a car crash.

"Harrington, inside the perimeter!"

Steve eyes an imminent geek but does as Hopper commands, weaselling through the single gap they've left behind. They finish the inner hammering and Hopper and Livingstone set about chaining the sections back together.

Steve backs away from the fence and tries to catch his breath. He leans back and brushes the hair out of his eyes, chest heaving, eyes shuttering closed in relied. They survived it. They did exactly what they were supposed to do in this situation and the plan worked.

Somebody takes the crowbar from his hand and he lets them, scrubbing both hands through his hair, scalp cool with sweat as a gale of wind blows. He looks up, and the sky has darkened, that rare morning sunshine nowhere to be seen.

He opens his eyes. Christopher is sitting a ways away looking queasy. Joyce is hugging the life out of Jonathan, kissing his cheek, hand in his hair. Bernier and Taylor are stabbing the new wave of geeks. Steve isn't worried, there aren't a quarter as many as there had been.

The smell is barbaric.

"Don't relax too quickly, kid," Hopper says, "we still gotta round up the bodies."

Steve laughs morosely, secretly pleased when Hopper pats him on the shoulder. His back fucking hurts and he stinks of gore and zombie gunk. Dead material somehow slimy and dry as bark at once, Steve wants a shower, and a hug from you, in that specific order.

"You okay?" Jonathan asks him, squinting. There's blood splattered against his forehead.

"They had to do this today?" Steve asks. "This is my favourite shirt. I'm never gonna get the guts out–"

A scream splits the air.

"The quad," Hopper announces. "Taylor, Bernier, keep going. Everyone else, with me."

His blood ice in his veins, Steve runs with the rest of the group. He realises he's left his crowbar with Taylor and grimaces, pulling the gun from his holster and knocking off the safety mechanism. Steve isn't good with a gun. He only ever used one right at the start, when he hadn't known that sound to a geek is like a porch light to moths. That, and he'd run out of ammo.

"Oh, goddammit."

There's a crowd of geeks they must've missed around the side of the town hall. Hopper immediately starts yelling at a young teenager screaming in front of the gym to get back inside.

Steve's okay, his heart's fine, and then he sees you. You're wrist deep in brains, surrounded by bodies and coated in a black spray of blood. It's in your hair, your eyebrows, all over your cheek and your shoulder.

He nearly wrenches Livingstone off of his feet as he bursts forward to help you, gun raised and poised. He shoots and drives forward. One geek, two. Three, five, he loses count. He gets so close he can hear your panting breath, not panicked but struggling to keep going.

"Fucker," he says, one geek left between you and safety.

You scramble to the side. Steve shoots it point black in the back of the head. It falls down slow, and then it thunks against your shoes.

You reach for him on automatic as you pull your feet from under him, treading over the soft of the geeks shoulders and into Steve's waiting arms. He holds the gun away from you to click on the safety, shoving it back into his borrowed holster.

"You're okay?" you ask loudly.

"I'm fine, what are you doing out here? You should've stayed inside the pantry."

"Says who?" you ask, squeezing him so tightly he feels his skin bruising in the shapes of your arms.

"Says everyone!" he shouts, squeezing you back just as hard.

You catch your breath together. His hands rove over your back, checking and rechecking that you're real and you're not hurt. He pushes you away from him to check your front properly, hand on your face, your arms.

"I'm fine," you say, "I'm perfect."

"You have more blood on you than the rest of us put together."

You hum unhappily. "I think I got a fresh one in the artery. It sprayed like a fountain, it was–" You sigh, stroking a loose curl of dirtied hair from his eyes. "It was disgusting."

He wants to kiss you, but he's normal, and you're both plastered in blood. He's less normal as he wraps his forearm behind your head and forces your face into his neck, groaning in an exhaustive relief. Your warm breath against his skin is everything he could ever ask for.

"Stay inside, next time," he murmurs.

"Not a chance."

"Think I can give him a citation?" Steve hears Hopper ask.

Joyce gasps through a laugh. "They're cute!"

"This is a public space."

Steve huffs a laugh against your ear. "Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me."

"I had to know you were okay."

His hand slides down your shoulders, searching for something he can't explain. "I'm okay. We're okay, honey. You can relax."

The last of your resistance ebbs away. You melt into his arms, and Steve pretends for your sake that he can't feel you shaking like a leaf. You just tore your way through a herd to make sure he was okay: you're the bravest girl he's ever met.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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jqhotchner · 4 months

Text

love of my life

one

spring happened to be the best moment in your life. your first kiss was in spring, first date was in spring, first time was in spring, and the man you’d spend the rest of your life with, you met him in the spring time. most importantly you have your first baby in spring.

you and harry couldn’t be happier with your lives. unfortunately all good things must come to an end.

you met harry at one of the first few tours one direction had. your little sister was obsessed with the band. your dad, having amazing connections, bought the tickets and you took your sister to see the band live. your dad had got two backstage passes and you could tell your sister was gonna pass out just by how she looked.

finally getting to meet the boys you didn’t expect to fall in love. but the curly haired boy was beautiful. plus the accent wasn’t all bad either.

you didn’t wanna get ahead of yourself but he didn’t even miss a beat. he asked you out that night. since, you two have been inseparable. falling in love with a pop star wasn’t easy though.

you’ve seen front hand what that could do. your dad, being a lawyer, had many celebrity clients. you had met so many people in your life. and some of them even opened up to you as you got older. and the things you’ve heard.

the hate fans give people simply because they’re dating their favorite musician or actor. you knew if you wanted to be with harry you had to keep your relationship extremely private.

and you have, since the very beginning! the two of you were careful. very careful! no one knew who you were and the media made harry out to be a player.

the truth was you’ve started dating when you were fifteen, he was sixteen, got engaged when you were twenty-one, and got married a year later.

now you’re thirty and you have a beautiful daughter together. and still no one suspected a thing.

until the day you got caught

you two were enjoying each other. it was your first night out since having maybelle. she was currently with her grandparents while you and harry spend a evening out. harry has been planning his tour while filming two different movies.

the two of you rarely get to catch up. you missed your husband dearly but you knew he loved his job. seeing the smile on his face as his fans scream the lyrics back to him. it was something magical.

harry talks about the movies he’s starring in. he enjoyed the cast on both sets. you just loved listening to him. his eyes shining bright.

“babe, you’re gonna love my policeman.”

you hum as you sip your wine.

“what’s that look?”

“it’s just the movies aren’t always as good as the book. i don’t wanna be disappointed.”

harry playfully rolls his eyes at his wife. you just shrug your shoulders. harry continues to talk about the cast. the two of you were too busy enjoying each other.

normally more self aware of your surroundings. making sure paparazzi wasn’t around or a fan wasn’t taking pictures.

today you just wanted to enjoy each other. unfortunately the paps had been called when a ‘fan’ spotted harry on a date with a mystery woman.

neither of you noticed. after awhile harry grabbed the check and paid. he leaves a generous tip before he grabs you hand and kisses the back of it.

you lean your head on his shoulder as you walk towards the car. he opens the door for you before getting into the car himself and driving off. neither of you ready for the storm that’s coming your way.

you weren’t paying too much attention to the tv. it was just white noise while you played with your four month old daughter.

you never knew you could love a person so much until you had maybelle. she was your life! she looked so much like harry. her eyes were even a beautiful green.

she had harry’s dimples as well. you basically birthed a photo copy of your husband. harry kept telling you she had your nose and your smile. but the only thing she had of yours was your skin tone. you didn’t mind though, she was just adorable.

“next topic, harry styles.”

“oh, look may, they’re talking about daddy.”

her head turned when you called his name. she looked at the tv and smiled when she saw her father. her body bouncing up and down excitedly.

“looks like our pop star is in another relationship!”

you roll your eyes. it’s been years and they’re still labeling your husband as a womanizer. sure he had a lot of female friends. but you know all of them personally. plus you trust your husband completely. he loved you and he’s proven that time and time again over the years. you didn’t care what the media thought.

“he was seen on a lunch date with a mystery woman. we have no idea who she is but she sure was cuddled up to the superstar.”

you turned your head and gasped. their you were on tv. how the hell did they find you? you wanted to shed tears. instead you grabbed your cellphone and called your father.

“daddy,”

“i was just about to call you darling. ive seen the news.”

“what can we do?”

“i can try to find the son of a bitch and sue his ass for everything he’s worth. it’ll take some time but ill get it done, baby.”

“daddy, this isn’t—i have maybelle now. i gotta protect her first.”

“i know darling. we’ll make sure she’s safe from any media outlet. have you talk to harry?”

“no, called you first. i—i don’t think he’s seen. he would have called me.”

he was most likely busy filming. you knew when he was done for the day he’d have multiple notifications.

you just knew you needed to prepare yourself for what’s to come. for the sake of your sanity and your family.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x black!reader #harry styles fake ig #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #jqhotchner #love of my life jq

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otomehoneyybearr · 6 months

Text

Act 12

Episode 1: The Bing Bang Dream

Working w/ Maybelle Lace

Note: As you read, you will see that some sentences highlighted in a different color, this is what they indicate.

Pink: Flashback of the past

Blue: The Character(s) is/are acting

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

???: Its dangerous, so make sure to hold onto our hands.

Sakuya: Okay!

???: Come take a look, Sakuya. The ocean continues on to the other side.

Sakuya: The ocean is so big!

???: That's right.

???: Did you know, Sakuya? In this town--

.....

Citron: …uya… Sakuya... Are you alright?

Sakuya: ...ngh.

Sakuya: Huh...? Why am I...?

Citron: You had been crying in your sleep. Did you have a scary dream?

Sakuya: ….I can't remember much of it but I think it was about something nostalgic. It made me feel lonely…

Citron: A nostalgic dream? Was it the time when the Big Bang created the universe?~

Sakuya: I don’t think it was from that long ago..!

Citron: Oh! We must eat breakfast soon, or we’ll miss practice!

Sakuya: You’re right! Let’s hurry!

....…

Misumi: Wasn’t that guy with the enemy?

Muku: Who is he?

Tenma: Wait, what IS your name?

Sakuya: Oh, my name is Saku.

Tenma: Right, apparently, this guy’s searching for the planet he was born on.

Izumi: (Rehearsals for the second part are going smoothly because of the success from the first half. The advantage of having a second part is that we can make use of both strong and weak points from the first half.)

Izumi: (The members that appeared in the first part of the play already feel comfortable with their roles because of their prior appearance, and since the Spring Troupe members finally get to make their appearance in the second part, they have a high level of enthusiasm.)

Izumi: (Everyone’s collective energies is creating a good atmosphere in the practice room.)

Izumi: Let’s take a short break.

Chikage: Since the atmosphere of the play has already been set from the beginning, everything has a fresh and different feel from the usual.

Itaru: I’m getting excited now that the costumes are complete.

These men (づ￣ ³￣)づ

Tsuzuru: Well, this IS the kind of fantasy feel you love after all.

Itaru: I've been found out.

Citron: Itaru is easy to understand.

Sakuya: I’m so happy I finally get to perform with the spring troupe!

Citron: Now, you will no longer feel lonely, Sakuya! Dreaming of the Big Bang will only make you cry.

Tsuzuru: What the? How are those two things even connected?!

Sakuya: I can’t remember exactly how it went but I don’t think it was about the Big Bang!

Izumi: Is it true that you cried from your dream?

Sakuya: Oh…well… It’s a dream that I’ve been having every now and then.

Sakuya: The scenery is unfamiliar to me... but it’s not a scary dream though.

Citron: If Sakuya cries from his dreams again, all of the members of the Spring Troupe are required to gather in room 101.

Sakuya: But everything is okay though!

Chikage: I’ll be there anytime if it’s for our leader.

Tsuzuru: No need to be shy about it Sakuya.

Masumi: I’ll go if I’m awake.

Itaru: Yeah… he’s definitely not coming.

...…

Masumi: Should we get started?

Izumi: Hmm, let’s wait a bit longer… In anticipation of the performance soon, this afternoon—

*Door opens*

Rento: Yo.

Akashi: …Um, sorry to bother you.

Izumi: Oh, hey you guys!

Izumi: Thanks again for providing the wonderful lighting during the first part of the performance!

Izumi: It’s because of you guys, that we were able to take our production to a higher level, and the audience absolutely loved it.

Rento: Well, ain’t that swell.

Akashi: N-No, it was nothing… Izumi… it’s because you gave me such wonderful colors…

Masumi: Too close.

Akashi: ?!

Izumi: Masumi?

Masumi: Four meters away.

Izumi: Why?!

Itaru: The Masumi sensor went off.

Citron: A forecast of the storm of love!

Kazunari: Renton!

Rento: Hey! I brought over the CD that I bought the other day.

Kazunari: Yippee! Gimme gimme!

Izumi: (As expected of the two with high social skills, they became friends before I knew it.)

Tetsuro: …

Izumi: Tetsuro! Didn’t see you there!

Tetsuro: …

Akashi: Ah…

Izumi: (I wonder if they’re seeing each other eye to eye? Maybe they’d get along well since they’re both the quiet type.)

Tenma: Both Tetsuro and our two new guys sure have strong personalities.

Rento: The troupe members here are also characters.

Yuki: Can’t deny that.

Izumi: You guys are all reliable though because of your skills.

Rento: It’s a small theater, so we can only do so much but let’s make the second half even better than the first.

Akashi: I-I’ll do my best…

Izumi: Now that you mention it, it would be nice if we could upgrade our equipment a bit more.

Rento: Yeah, you’re right… last time I brought in my own equipment.

Izumi: But, if we can make this performance a success, we may be able to renovate the theater and level up in various ways!

Rento: Well then, let’s do our best.

Kazunari: Does this mean you’ll continue working with us?

Rento: Well, I’ll do it as long as I don’t get fired.

Akashi: Ah, me too

Izumi: Great!

Izumi: Alright, first, I’d like to reintroduce you to the leading roles of the second half of the show, starting with Sakuya.

Sakuya: I’m Sakuya Sakuma and I’m the lead for the second half of the show. Once again, I look forward to working with you.

Rento: Yea, nice to meet’cha.

Akashi: What bright… colors.

Izumi: (In addition to the high level motivation, the staff has been strengthened, and the interpretation the troupe members have of their roles have deepened through the success of the first half.)

Izumi: (If we can progress without a hitch until the curtains open, our second half will definitely be a success as well!)

.....

*Phone rings*

Reni: …

Yukio: Hello?

Reni: It’s me, kamikizaka.

Yukio: Reni?! Oh, thank god… I need you to listen to me!

Reni: Huh? What’s wrong?

Yukio: My daughter came to see my play the other day!

Reni: O...oh… I see.

Yukio: I was happy when you and I talked over the phone but I'd didn't think I'd be able to see my daughter in person too. It made me really happy.

Yukio: This show was super important to me because it was my last performance in that theater. I’m so glad my daughter got to see it.

Yukio: Now, I’ve moved to a new town and joined theater troupe here. It’s hard work but it’s fulfilling.

Yukio: I‘ve got to admit though, seeing my daughter made me miss everyone else in Japan.

Reni: …I’ll bring you back to Japan. That’s what I promised you.

Yukio: Yeah… Oh, speaking of which, what’s up with you today?

Reni: Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.

Reni: I was talking with Kashima regarding your disappearance and heard that you left the theater world due to “certain circumstances”.

Reni: I didn’t get to ask you directly the last time we talked but I ended up hearing about the incident from Kusumi Ikaruga.

Reni: With the help of Syu, I managed to get some information which led me to a certain person.

Reni: I understand you are keeping silent for the sake of your troupe’s members here in Japan. However, in order to properly corner the opponent, I need this information.

Reni: I want you to believe in me and tell me the truth.

Yukio: …

Reni: If my understanding of the situation is correct, then the one who banished you from the theater world in Japan was—

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

▼・ᴥ・▼

#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! translation #a3! act 12 translation #sakuya sakuma #a3! act 12

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never-gonna-danse-again · 2 months

Text

favourite DCR songs

Because here, we think about the important stuff.

(fyi these are for the base game permanent companions, but if you want to hear about any others let me know :)

Cait: Whole Lotta Shaking Goin' On

I can't actually think of a reason she'd like this it just speaks to me. You can't deny that Big Maybelle would start playing and you'd suddenly look over to see her having a tiny dance and humming along. At higher affinity she's ask you to sing with her; a true honour

Codsworth : Way Back Home

Let's be real, Codsworth is a robot made to serve who has been stuck in the same house for two hundred years, all alone. When Sole starts bringing people back to Sanctuary and renovating the whole town, it was the best thing that had happened to him since pre-war life. He can help people, he can fulfil his duty as a Mr. Handy, and this song lets him reflect on how far he's come

Curie: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

She loves Ella Fitzgerald's voice, deeming her an angel (in a french accent, this will sound cute idk) and always asks questions to Sole about how they played the instruments, an art that has since become almost extinct after the war. Sole promises one day they'll try and find a guitar and learn the song for her

Danse: One More Tomorrow

This was him and Cutler's song. Back in Rivet City, they shared a flat somewhere in the complex, and they found a record left behind from the previous owner (one of the tiny ones with like two songs on). Other than the Muddy Rudder, there wasn't too much to do, so One More Tomorrow was often played on repeat. Cutler taught him how to dance to this song, and it remains as his favourite because it helps him remember how he used to laugh and smile back when they were younger

Deacon: Sixty Minute Man

100% hears this song come on the radio and proceeds to give Sole the most childish side eye known to man. He knows full well what the songs is about, but always manages to put some stupid spin on the lyrics and has danced his way away from a super mutant suicider to it.

Hancock: I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire

One of the few memories he still recalls from his childhood is him and his mother playing while this songs plays somewhere in the background; it makes him feel happy, though after so much chem abuse, he can't really understand why. He doesn't remember her face, but always imagines her voice singing along with him to every line.

MacCready: The Wanderer

Absolutely vibes with it, and though he hasn't been around with as many women as the song details, he's been roaming the wastes all his life. He's not quite ready to settle down because he's still trying to recover from Lucy's loss, and The Wanderer speaks to him and his nomadic spirit, letting him know it's okay that things turned out this way.

Valentine: The End of the World

one of his pre-war favourites inherited from his namesake, who attended ballroom dances with Jennifer every Tuesday evening; they loved the slow sway of this song, and even now Nick can't seem to shake the urge to turn it right up from Sole's Pip-Boy whenever it comes on. Can be heard humming it if you listen closely enough in Sanctuary

Piper: Personality

She's always been a great judge of character, even since she was a girl, so understandably, personality's pretty important to her. Her and Deacon duet it while travelling/ in a bar and have gotten surprisingly good at harmonies; Shaun's been trying to fix up an old karaoke machine for them so they can grace the whole of Sanctuary with a personal concert.

Preston: Good Rockin' Tonight

his old Minutemen buddies made a whole routine to this song after he told them he liked it; there's a lot of sentimentality attached to it for him, and doesn't hesitate to make new drunken mistakes to the song, if not just for them.

Strong: Butcher Pete

Strong likes Butcher Pete because he eats people. Butcher Pete is one of his number one idols because of this fact

X6: he claims to hate the station and insists that he much prefers the Classical Station, but really, he secretly loves Pistol Packin' Mama. How does Sole figure this out? They walk in to see him bobbing his head along with the music and singing the odd chorus while he mods his rifle. Most embarrassing moment of his life, but hilarious for the rest of Sanctuary.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 companions #deacon fallout 4 #nick valentine #fo4 maccready #x6 88 #fallout x6 88 #cait fallout 4 #sillys #diamond city radio #travis fallout 4 #i haven't seen one of these before #i did not take into mind the canon music preferences but ah well

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griseldabanks · 2 months

Text

Maybelle and the Beast

My contribution to the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This was my back-up idea for last year, so I was excited to have an excuse to finally write it out! Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, and I have a feeling I may revisit this particular version again in the future, because I could definitely turn this into a novel ;) I'll admit to taking a lot of inspiration from Robin McKinley's retellings of this fairy tale.

Maybelle stared at the tall, imposing mahogany door. She felt just as reluctant to open it as if it had been the barred portal to a dungeon—like the cold stone chamber she'd explored early on in her stay here, which she expected had been a dungeon once but was now a wine cellar.

More to stall for time than anything else, Maybelle brushed off her rust red skirt and straightened her collar. It was a nervous habit, but in a way it also served to remind her of why she was here, because of who had given her these clothes. Days, weeks, months in this huge, empty mansion, alone except for one companion. The companion who had slammed this very door not half an hour ago.

Taking a deep breath, Maybelle knocked firmly on the door.

“Go 'way,” a muffled voice growled out to her.

Letting out her breath again in an impatient huff, Maybelle crossed her arms. “Are you still sulking, Agnes?”

“I am not sulking,” the voice insisted sulkily.

“Right. You're lying in bed at three in the afternoon, glaring a hole in the ceiling, for your health.”

After a heavy silence, a loud click told her the key had turned in the hole. Taking that as an invitation, Maybelle opened the door and stepped inside.

The heavy drapes had been pulled closed, leaving the bedroom in a stuffy half-light. The only illumination came from the embers of the fire dying in the fireplace. She could barely even make out the silhouette of a large bulk lying in the huge four-poster. It was like stepping into a sickroom.

Rolling her eyes at the drama of it all, Maybelle closed the door with a snap and made a beeline for the window closest to the fireplace. She pulled the curtains aside, letting a band of lazy afternoon sunlight stretch across the carpet, revealing the twisting patterns of vines and roses. After a moment's consideration, Maybelle decided not to open the curtains of the other window nearest the bed. Best not to annoy Agnes any further with a sunbeam in her eyes. She would probably just wave her hand and make the curtains close, then stick together so Maybelle couldn't open them again. Instead, Maybelle contented herself with throwing the window open and letting in the delicious scents of flowers and the buzzing of bees from the gardens.

“There,” she said, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh smell of spring. “Much better.”

With a grunt, the huge lump on the bed rolled over.

Maybelle walked up to the foot of the bed and stood there with her hands on her hips, just waiting. How strange, to remember how frightened she had been the first time she'd ventured into this room. Or how her knees had nearly given out the first time she'd dared to meet the gaze of the terrible Beast who was to be her captor.

It had been months since she'd ceased to be the Beast, and became instead...simply Agnes.

“Well?” Maybelle said, when it became clear Agnes wasn't about to break the silence. “Aren't we going to at least talk about this?”

The long tail lying on top of the blue bedspread flicked irritably, like a huge cat's. “What's to talk about?” Agnes retorted, her voice grumbling like a motorcar in her massive chest. “Clearly, you don't care what happens to me, as long as you get to go have fun without me.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle sent up a silent prayer for patience. “Well, for starters,” she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she'd intended, “you called me an awful lot of horrid names, and I thought perhaps you might want to apologize.”

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, with a long-suffering groan from the bed, Agnes rolled over onto her back, her arms tucked up against her chest almost like a dog waiting for a belly rub. The long, black skirt did little to hide her bowed legs ending in sharp claws, and from this angle, her long saber teeth and curled goat-like horns were no longer hidden in her mountain of pillows.

Agnes sighed in resignation. “Sorry for calling you a selfish, bird-brained floozy.”

Maybelle nodded. “Apology accepted. And...I'm sorry too. For calling you a heartless, hairy pig.”

Their eyes met across the room. Agnes let out a snort, followed by a loud guffaw, and suddenly Maybelle found herself laughing as well. The tight coil of anger and bitterness loosened in her chest as she tipped her head back and let her higher-pitched laughter harmonize with Agnes' deep, hefty chuckles.

Still giggling, Maybelle crossed over and flopped onto the huge bed beside Agnes. She felt so tiny in this bed, like a doll. And yet, even though she was sure Agnes could snap her like a twig if she so desired, Maybelle didn't feel a shred of fear to lie a mere foot away from her.

For a couple minutes, they merely lay there, staring up into the canopy over the four-poster. Maybelle had just realized the stars embroidered there formed constellations and was looking for Orion when Agnes broke the silence.

“You were right, you know.” Her voice was a low, sad rumble like a locomotive rushing past in the night. “I am a pig.”

“Oh, no!” Maybelle raised herself on one elbow, looking over in alarm. “Please, forget those awful things I said. It was very wrong of me to call you that.”

Agnes turned her head aside, but Maybelle thought she caught the sight of a tear glistening in one eye. “You were only speaking the truth. Like you always do. I am heartless. Because I care more about not being alone than I do about you getting a chance to see your family. Even when all you ask is to go to your sister's wedding...I'm too selfish to let you go.”

Slowly, Maybelle lowered herself to her pillow again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. “I wasn't thinking of you either. I'm sorry, Agnes. I know...I mean, I can imagine how lonely it must get here, in this huge mansion all alone. But it would only be for the weekend. Just enough to meet Edward and see Adeline off. I'd be back before you could miss me too much.”

“You...would come back?”

Agnes' voice sounded so hesitant and tremulous, Maybelle looked over in surprise, but she couldn't make out her friend's expression past the horn and the unruly mane of hair. “Of course I'll come back. That's part of the deal.”

The silence seemed to congeal between them. Neither of them had mentioned the deal Agnes and Maybelle's father had worked out, not since...Maybelle couldn't even remember. During the past several months, it had become easy to forget how all of this began. When Maybelle had first arrived at the mansion, she'd shut thoughts of home out of her mind as much as possible, to make her dreadful fate a little more bearable. If she weren't constantly thinking of the little cottage or trying to imagine what her father and sisters were up to, perhaps she could carve a small measure of contentment out of her exile. It was a small price to pay for her father's life, after all.

But it had been months since Maybelle had seriously believed that Agnes would have eaten her father. Not after she'd seen the delicate way Agnes handled the gardening tools when she tended to her enchanted rose bushes. Not after the way she'd cradled that finch's body in her enormous hands, huge tears rolling down her hairy face as she muttered spell after spell that fizzled out, unable to bring the tiny animal back to life.

Not after scores upon scores of cozy evenings by the fire, laughing together as Maybelle tried to teach Agnes how to knit with two iron pokers, or taking turns reading from one of the books in the huge library.

For the first time, Maybelle tried to imagine what life must have been like for Agnes in all the years before her father had shown up on the doorstep. Sitting alone in front of a guttering fire. Pacing the dark, dusty hallways, with nothing to hear but the echoes of her own footsteps. Wandering the grounds, able to turn the seasons at a word and the weather at a glance, but with nothing but the birds and bees to listen to her words. A library that magically seemed to provide exactly the book she wanted to read, but all the stories of friendship and adventure only serving to mock her solitude.

“I promise I'll come back,” Maybelle said firmly. “Deal or no deal. I won't leave you alone forever.”

A strange, strangled sound escaped Agnes, quickly disguised in a clearing of her throat. “Well,” she said gruffly, “good. But if you don't come back in three days, I'll die.”

Maybelle rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.

-----

It was raining when Maybelle returned to the mansion. Since it was midsummer out in the rest of the world, she hadn't thought to pack a coat, so she just ducked her head and hurried up the gravel walk to the great front doors. This wasn't a summer rain, either; the chilly breeze cut right through the thin sleeves of the flower-patterned dress Violette had made for her.

The front doors seemed heavier than usual. Normally, they swung open at the first touch of her hand, but this time Maybelle had to throw her shoulder against one to open it. Perhaps Agnes had left a window open somewhere and there was a draft. Though that seemed strange; surely Agnes would have either closed the window or shifted the weather instead of letting all this cold rain blow in.

Maybelle turned back to glance out the door. It looked like Agnes had fully committed to a dreary late November today. The bare branches of the trees clacked together while the wind howled through them, cold raindrops splashing in puddles that turned the walkways to mud. It made her wonder if the rain had kept up the whole time she'd been away.

Shivering, Maybelle heaved the front door closed again, picked up her bag, and started towards the stairs. “Agnes!” she called, her voice echoing around the huge entryway. “I'm home!”

She was halfway up the stairs, struggling with her free hand to unpin her hair and wring out some of the water, when she realized the lamps were dark. Her feet slowed to a stop in the lush carpeting, and she frowned up at the huge chandelier that hung over the open space. Every time she'd set foot in this hall—or anywhere else in the house, for that matter—candles lit themselves and lamps burst to life. At first, she'd found it frightening, especially when she would walk down a long, straight corridor with the candles flaring up in front of her and winking out behind her, leaving her in a bubble of illumination.

But after all these months, she'd grown used to such things. Doors opening at a touch, lamps lighting on their own, plates of food and cups of tea appearing on tables right when she wanted them, a bath drawn and waiting for her without even the hint of a servant in sight. It was all part of the magic of this place. Agnes' magic.

In the cold darkness and silence, Maybelle suddenly remembered what Agnes had said before her trip. If you don't come back in three days, I'll die.

A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with her soaked dress. Surely Agnes had just been exaggerating, the way she so often did. Like that time she'd said she felt like she'd been alone in this mansion for a hundred years. Or when she said she lived under a curse.

But still...where was she? After all the fuss she'd made when Maybelle had first asked to leave, why wasn't she waiting for her? Was she sulking in her room again?

“Agnes!” Maybelle called again, slowly climbing the rest of the stairs. “I'm back! Where are you?”

Nothing but silence to welcome her.

Her footsteps slowed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for her room. The corridor was wide enough that there wasn't much danger of bumping into things, but it was all so eerie without candles lighting her way. She paused at the corner, where a tall window offered a bit of cold illumination.

Shivering, Maybelle looked out at the darkening grounds, still lashed by the driving rain. The rosebushes looked like they were taking a beating, magic or no magic. Even as she watched, the wind stripped leaves off the branches, and most of the brightly-colored petals were already gone. What on earth was Agnes thinking? Even in her most fickle moods, she would usually relent if she realized it would endanger her precious roses....

Maybelle frowned. What was that dark lump in the middle of the path? She hadn't noticed it as she rushed up the front drive, but from this higher vantage point, she could see it clearly. Was it a tarp caught under a wheelbarrow, knocked onto its side in all this wind?

No. Those weren't the handles of a wheelbarrow. They were horns. Two horns, curled like a goat's, rising from a big hairy head lying in the mud....

Dropping everything, Maybelle grabbed her dripping skirts and raced back down the corridor. She hopped up onto the banister as she'd done so many times before and slid expertly to the bottom. Laughing as Agnes tried to imitate her and toppled over the side in a heap.

She ran to the front door and heaved it open, letting go as the howling wind gusted in and slammed it back against the wall. “Last one inside's a rotten egg!”

The rain almost seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so strong. Holding up an arm to shield her face, Maybelle splashed along the muddy path as fast as she could. Walking along the path, crunching through the snow, leaving behind a neat row of shoe prints and paw prints side-by-side.

“Agnes!” Maybelle screamed, the wind stealing her voice, as she turned down an aisle between the rosebushes. “You were wrong when you said there was nothing beautiful about you, Agnes. Just look at your roses!”

There she lay, like a mound of dirt, one arm flung around a rosebush as if to protect it, the other curled tight against her chest. She wasn't moving.

“Agnes?” Maybelle dropped to her knees in a puddle by Agnes' side. Throwing her weight against Agnes' huge shoulder, she managed to roll her onto her back. But how would she ever drag her up into the house?

A weak groan escaped Agnes' lips, and her eyelids fluttered, then slid open. “May...belle?”

Hot tears stung Maybelle's eyes. “Thank goodness!” she cried, grasping Agnes' hand in both of hers. “I thought you were....”

Agnes slowly opened her hand, and Maybelle saw that it was cupped around a small, bedraggled red rose. Most of the petals were gone, and those that remained looked wilted.

“Last one,” Agnes grunted. “Not much...time now.”

“It's all right,” Maybelle said, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “We can replant. Once you're feeling a little stronger, maybe you can turn the weather back to spring and—“

“No.” A shudder ran through Agnes' whole body, and her face twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. “No starting over. No...No use.”

“What are you talking about?” Maybelle patted her friend's hand. “Of course we can start over. We can always start over.”

“But...we sh-shouldn't.” Agnes' voice grew fainter by the minute, and Maybelle had to lean closer to hear. “Just...go back home...Maybelle.”

Icy fingers of dread closed around Maybelle's heart. “What? No! I made a promise, remember? I'm to stay here in my father's place—“

“I release you.” Her big amber eyes rolled to meet Maybelle's, bloodshot and exhausted, but crystal clear. “It was...wrong. I...was wrong. To make you stay...against your will. So...I...re...lease...you....”

With that final whisper, her eyes slid closed, and her head lolled back onto the ground. A shiver, like a tiny electric pulse, ran through Maybelle's whole body, and she knew that some sort of spell had just ended.

“No, Agnes!” Frantically, Maybelle chafed Agnes' hands, patted her cheeks, loosened her collar. “Agnes, you don't understand! I'm not here against my will! We're friends, Agnes! I want to be here!”

The huge beast didn't move. This wasn't like the times Agnes sulked and refused to talk to Maybelle. She couldn't even tell if Agnes was breathing anymore.

Desperate to do something, Maybelle tried to heave Agnes into her arms, but the most she could manage was to cradle Agnes' head in her lap. Tears mingled with rainwater on her furry cheeks.

What if she were dead already? What would Maybelle do then? Go back to her family? But there would be no more strolling through the gardens in the evening, no more reading by firelight, no more long conversations or teaching each other games or trying to braid each other's hair or teaching Agnes how to dance or listening to her wonderful singing voice or laughing at each other's silly jokes or....

“Don't be stupid, Agnes!” Maybelle sobbed. “You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. No one knows me like you do. No one cares like you do. If I knew this would happen to you, I never would have gone away.”

Maybelle rested her cheek against Agnes' forehead, in between the horns, and rocked back and forth, holding her best friend close. “I'm sorry, Agnes...I'm sorry.... I never wanted to lose you. I just...I just wanted to keep being your friend. Always. Forever.” A painful sob ripped out of her chest as her best friend's body lay cold and still in her arms. “I love you, Agnes.”

Faintly, Maybelle was aware that the wind had died down, and raindrops no longer pounded down on her head and shoulders. The realization of what that meant only made her cry harder. Her fingers tangled in Agnes' mane of hair as she mumbled over and over again, “I love you, Agnes...I love you....”

“Love you too.”

Maybelle looked up at those gruff words, then gave a great start as she realized she held a complete stranger in her arms.

The woman she held was large, with broad shoulders and a squarish jaw. She was no great beauty, especially not with disheveled brown hair straggling all over the place or her body swimming in Agnes' oversized dress, but there was something comfortable and familiar about....

Wait. “Ag...nes?”

Moving stiffly, the woman held her own hands up in front of her face and turned them around, as if she'd never seen them before. Slowly, a wondering smile crossed her face, and Maybelle noticed this woman's front teeth protruded slightly.

Not too unlike the huge fangs that had curved from Agnes' lips.

Then she raised her eyes to meet Maybelle's, and there was no doubt. Those were the amber-brown eyes of her best friend.

“Agnes!”

They threw their arms around each other, and they were crying, but they were also laughing, and Agnes was trying to tell her something about a fairy and a flower and a curse, but Maybelle was too distracted by how small Agnes was in her arms. How high Agnes' voice was.

“How?” she gulped, pulling back and holding Agnes at arms' length. “How did this happen?”

“It's all you, silly!” Agnes laughed, swiping her sleeve over Maybelle's cheeks to dry her tears. She still moved carefully, as if afraid of accidentally swiping Maybelle with nonexistent claws. “True love breaks any curse, don't you know that?”

“True love?” Maybelle sniffled.

Tears spilled out of Agnes' beautiful amber eyes and rolled down her round, rosy cheeks. “What love could be truer than this?” she said with a shaky laugh. “That you'd still want to be friends with someone as beastly as me?”

“Oh, you're not as bad as all that.”

Agnes raised her eyebrows. “Really? Even after all those nasty things I said to scare you on your first night here? Or when I threw a chair at you and screamed when you went exploring in the west wing?”

“Well....” Maybelle didn't know how to deny it without completely lying, so she hastily changed the subject. “I don't regret anything, though. I don't regret coming here. I don't regret deciding to be your friend.”

With a watery chuckle, Agnes rested their foreheads together. “I don't regret it either.”

#inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale challenge #theme: philia #story: complete #beauty and the beast #fairy tales #set in vaguely-victorian era #maybelle #agnes

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lezoftheirown · 2 years

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re: passing & gender expression

so they get the uniforms & its the first time a lot of them realize how baseball is like not their safe zone to be masc anymore & it really shows who Is vs Isn't used to needing to pass as femme sometimes. then also! how they try to dykeify their uniforms by like rolling the sleeves or leaving a button undone or wearing it halfway up... or also what they wear under their uniforms so like slightly longer shorts or masc undershirts/t-shirt with high collar

then later in charm school it was like Real and theres now Stakes & situations they will b put in where passing as femme is Required in order to stay on the team/be safe at all from the police...

so u have characters like clance & maybelle & shirly who their femininity and classic expressions of their womanhood are so inherent to them and have never been something to think about, they even make comments about being more brash/fun/outgoing than they seem & feeling underestimated in that way. so like 0 worry about seeming suspicious/passing.

Then u have the femme dykes like greta & carson & gracie whose classic femininity has lots of aspects that feel natural & true & fulfilling but also the layer of using it as a safety mechanism & being worried about it not being enough or being too much. so like knowing that parts of their femininity need to be deliberate and also knowing that there are stakes & it Can be questioned makes passing for them just as important, even if it is easier to pass

(also when u realize ur queer u learn that gender rolls are bullshit so u end up finding which ones fit you specifically, which ultimately affects your expression regardless of masc or femme)

i think that gracie & greta both love being high femme but also know that its safest that way & know how to protect those without that safety but Also still need to code switch to appease general society. they both feel confident & true as feminine but not complete without the queer parts of it.

Carson and max are sort of in between where they never questioned their femininity before & it came naturally to them but not in like a super enthusiastic way or in a way that they enjoyed. throughout the season we see them each incorporate aspects of masc style which felt right and also in turn made their feminine styles more considered, especially loved the futch moments of putting together parts of both.

then theres masc characters like lupe & jess & bert & jo... firstly i Love how varied their experiences are but r all so true to queer masculinity:

so jess has prob never had to pass or been asked to be anyone but who she is ever. like they have Def experienced queer hatred & bigotry but being raised on a farm with brothers near a city with a queer scene, she has prob never had to like put on makeup or anything until the peaches. then she quickly realizes how high the stakes are when that one girl gets kicked out for being too butch & she has to like barely squeeze by and force herself to pass.

Jo is obviously really used to passing and is very familiar with code switching & hiding parts of herself when she has to. like she just allows the uniform to have nothing to do with her personal style & just tolerates it until she can take it off. or in the charm school she just does it & gets it over with

with Lupe u can tell she has had to pass before, probably in a church setting, but she knows it takes a Lot of focus & effort to really pass. in the charm school shes like so tense & tries so hard & probably just barely flies under their radar. even when they're all walking around later she cant reel her focus back in.

then throughout the series we see them learn when they can get away with dressing masc and when they have to femme it up. like the scenes in a group when theyre out on the town, the more masc teammates still keep their mens shoes & wear toned down dresses & no handbag or hat. or going to the movies where jess is like regular mens clothes but lupe and jo are both dressed lightly femme (obvi jess figured she could get away with it in a dark theatre).

but this is when its important to have a character like Bert who will absolutely not compromise his identity for anyone else's comfort or even for his own safety. honest expression comes before anything

then in the queer bar scenes & the drinking at home scenes we get to see true expressions & authentic comfort & confidence and its like such a breath of fresh air. the actors did so good showing the difference & ease that comes with dressing truly

#a league of their own #jess mccready #lupe garcia #carson shaw #max chapman #greta gill #dyke #lgbt #aloto #lesbian #butch #femme

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weareallfuckingfruit · 1 year

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I want to talk more about Jo and Maybelle. I think we should all talk more about Jo and Maybelle because nobody talks about this at all:

-After Jo gets traded, Maybelle's is the first letter she gets. Not Carson's, not even Greta's but Maybelle's. It's dated the day she left and it's the most heartfelt thing she's ever been given. The paper's blotchy (ofc we love our crying queen) and is smudged all over but it's so obviously written with love Jo weeps a little before she folds it back up and tucks it into the pocket of her new uniform. it stays there until the league's end (at which point it goes into Jo's wallet and stays there instead.)

- Jo is driving to Maybelle's ranch near Christmas (invited of course) when she remembers Maybelle has two kids and gets too excited so naturally, Maybelle is greeted by THE Santa Claus showing up for Christmas with a huge bag full of presents (She spent the rest of her pay on these) for these tiny humans who are using 'Santa' as a climbing frame. Jo wraps her up in a warm, bear-crushing hug and maybe a few tears. She hands her a small bag, complete with a new real fur coat and a chuckle- "well you said you wanted one." (if they have a few too many eggnogs then that's their problem and if Jo is singing "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" for the next week that's also their problem)

-Jo helping Maybelle out whenever humanly possible, Maybelle getting herself into stupid situations on purpose so Jo can help.

-Maybelle falls first, Jo falls harder.

-Maybelle would have to be SUPER obvious that she's into Jo because Jo tries so hard not to come off in a creepy way (especially after the bar raid) that she doesn't even consider Maybelle an option until Maybelle is practically in front of her going "Kiss me dumbass"

-Jo just being insanely strong and doing all of the heavy lifting around the ranch for Maybelle, despite her protests- "Josephine don't you dare!-" "-I can carry it sugarplum, don't worry!"

-Maybelle brings up queerness before the bar raid. Jo freaks the fuck out about it. "Jo how did you know you were queer?" "I-I'm not." "Oh." (they laugh about it between kisses months later.)

-Maybelle's kids fucking love Jo. She's so tall and is built like a fridge so they're just constantly climbing up her and dangling off her various limbs. They're little gremlins and Jo loves them so much.

Yeah I think we need to talk about them more (these are all obviously headcanons but please leave love and comments bc I love ur headcanons too)

#a league of their own #a league of their own series #jo de luca #maybelle fox #greta gill #wlw community #aloto #lgbtq

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violetren · 2 years

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Maybelle is maybe the best fucking person in A League of Their Own. She knows fucking everything about everyone and doesn't say shit, and not in a "teehee, they don't know I could wreck them kind of a way" just in a "Noice, let's play some baseball go you funky little lesbians" kind of way.

I love so many of the characters SO much but in this one particular moment Maybelle gets the limelight.

#a league of their own #how ever queer you've heard it is it is way more queer #we aren't talking 1 conventionally attractive fem lesbian couple #we're talking butch rep #black trans men #drag queens #there are multiple rather modest sex scenes throughout the season #and only one of the features a penis in vagina sex and it barely counts as straight sex #because it's a lesbian trying to see if she could live the lie with her unwitting beard #baseball and the season is there to drive the plot forward but it is not in fact the plot #the queer folks growing into themselves is the plot #and it's fantastic

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applepi00 · 11 days

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Maybell solo poster!

I love her so much, I also don’t know why I keep writing cute sad lesbians in vaguely horror settings and situations but alas.

#emi rambles #emi draws #dogwood girls #indie games #Maybell of dogwood #illustration #artists on tumblr #small artist

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angrycommiedyke · 2 months

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Thoughts on music in the Hunger Games (trilogy + prequel)

After finishing the trilogy, and especially after Katniss sings again in MJ, I remember thinking of the Hunger Games’ story each time I was listening to folk, country and gospel songs. The lyrics sometimes reminded me of the story and I pictured Katniss singing these songs with her dad. Songs condemning war, songs about working class people, songs about wildflowers and birds. And when I read the prequel, I was so happy to see that music was a big part of it. So here are some things I’ve noticed and wanted to share, sorry if it’s a bit messy :))

1/ Everdeen’s family // The Carter family

In Tbosas, Maude Ivory sings “Keep on the sunny side”, a song written by The Carter Family who come from the Appalachian mountains, where District 12 is located. Its original members, A.P, Sara and Maybelle Carter mostly sang ballads and mountain songs. Recently, I watched a documentary about the history and origins of country music, and learned that A.P. fell in love with Sara Dougherty when he heard her sing. He was from what was called Poor Valley while she lived in Rich Valley. I automatically thought of Katniss’ parents, her dad from the Seam, her mom, a Townie falling in love with his voice when he sang. Katniss was taught how to sing by her father, and if we consider Maude Ivory to be her grandmother, then the tradition sure has been there for many generations.

2/ Unity through music

We don’t have much information about other districts, but I have this headcanon that District 11 and 12 share some of the same songs. We know music is what Rue loved the most, and people there sing at work and at home. Considering that both districts are southern and quite geographically close to each other, I believe they kept alive some old songs from bluegrass, blues, folk, gospel and country music. (I also hc District 10 as having country music).

Also in MJ during Finnick and Annie’s wedding, District 12 refugees start to dance to their traditional music, “teach the steps to District 13 guests” and “insist on a special number for the bride and groom” (MJ, p.217). So Finnick and Annie from District 4 and the guests from 13 all “join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork” (MJ, p.217). I’d like to add that I think they are clogging. Clogging originates from Irish step dancing and developed with Native Americans influences, especially Cherokee, and “was also shaped by African ‘buck dancing’, which originated during slavery.” Therefore this dance is already a mix between Europeans, African and Native Americans cultures. And in this scene, it shows unity between the districts, everyone gathers to dance together and Katniss states “Dancing transforms us” (MJ, p.217). The same way in Tbosas (p.28), Snow’s thoughts when seeing Lucy Gray on stage during her reaping were that “Singing transformed her”, and that he “no longer found her so disconcerting.”

3/ Snow’s dislike for old songs

Now in the prequel, we get to see that Snow doesn’t like the old songs, and prefers the recent ones :

“Some of the numbers bordered on unintelligible, with un-familiar words that Coriolanus struggled to get the gist of, and he remembered Lucy Gray saying that they were from another time. During these in particular, the five Covey seemed to turn in on themselves, swaying and building complicated harmonies with their voices. Coriolanus didn’t care for it; the sound unsettled him. He sat through at least three songs of this kind before he realized it reminded him of the mockingjays. Fortunately, most of the songs were newer and more to his liking, and they finished up with the one he recognized from the reaping…” (Tbosas, p.286)

Old songs, like “Clementine” or “The ballad of Barbara Allen” are older than Panem. They existed centuries before what caused the almost extinction of human beings in the story. Despite the loss of billions and the destruction of technologies, cities…and freedom, poetry and songs are passed down generation from generation. With them, a part of history.

Bluegrass “was born from the creativity of working class and impoverished Southerners, Appalachians, and immigrants”, and how can I not think of District 12 when I hear Hazel Dickens sing about coal miners, and how can I not think of Katniss when I listen to country song “Coal miner’s daughter” now ? These old tunes (from bluegrass, blues, folk or country music) sometimes talk about slavery, poverty, workers’ life, hard times, but also hope and resilience. They show survival. And they also set an example of worlds existing before Panem. And in my opinion, this is why Snow doesn’t like them.

Just imagine if thanks to the songs and lyrics, people knew some parts of what happened before Panem, if they knew the atrocities committed, the wars, revolutions, and struggles. They may not know a thing about the civil rights movement but still have songs about it, like “We shall overcome”. Even songs which have ancient names are rebellious to the Capitol, think of “Country roads”, “My native home”, “West Virginia, my home”, “Sunny Tennessee” or “You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive”. Think of all the songs and ballads telling the stories of people long dead like Joe Hill or Ira Hayes that may have survived. Cause as Rachel Baiman sings, “old songs never die, they just cry and cry out for you to sing them once again”

And it’s neither in the books nor in the movies, so it’s not canon, but in the fan movie where Katniss is a child and goes to the woods with her dad, there are these lines :

Her dad (D) : “Because what’s in the woods ?” K : “Weapons, and food and mockingjays, and…” D : “All of it exists without the Capitol.” K : “Freedom.” D : “Freedom.”

And I believe that’s the reason for Snow's specific hatred for old songs. Also, the fact that when the Covey sung these, it made him think of mockingjays is telling. I keep thinking there must be an explanation for that, perhaps it's because the mockingjays are creatures who escaped the Capitol’s control just like traditional American music did ; because mockingjays represent a way out of the Capitol’s dictatorship later becoming a symbol of hope and revolt, and old songs can hold the same power.

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg meta #tbosas meta #thg thoughts #there are so many more things to say about music in the hunger games please feel free to share !!#mockingjay #katniss everdeen #the hunger games made me fall in love with bluegrass music #now I want to learn the clog dancing #Did SC intented for the Everdeen's family to be a parallel to the Carter Family or is it just a coincidence ?#anyway #OLD SONGS NEVER DIE <3

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