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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

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fox rain | one

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. seokjin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid seokjin is (i’m sorry for always making him so dumb) → words: 10.4K → a/n: i know i say this a lot, but this literally the STUPIDEST thing i’ve ever written in my life. i’ve lost maybe ten braincells per word in this fic, and i’m proud of it gdi!! some of my best jokes are in this mess, and that’s saying a lot considering my whole life is a joke. also: check bio for the chapter links for now!

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When you feel yourself awakening, for a moment, you think you might have been hungover. The usual disembodiment you feel after a night out of drinking is what greets you when the last dredges of sleep start to fade out of your periphery, added with the insatiable urge to piss the equivalent of the volume of the Atlantic Ocean. There are weights over your eyes, you surmise, because there is no way you will be able to open them long enough to see whether you were actually dead.

But of course, you are still subjected to the curse of human curiosity, which allows you to gather enough strength to squint blearily and access your current surroundings.

You are greeted by the sight of unfamiliar overhead lights and sterile white walls. The window just to your left shows the darkened sky, the moon creeping just behind the evergreen trees. Groaning slightly, you push yourself into a sitting position, a sudden wave of vertigo slamming into you like a supernova. As you survey the room some more, you notice the sound of muffled conversation going on behind the nearby sheer curtain, and the smell of antiseptic wafts its way into your nostrils. You’re in the nurse’s office, you realize belatedly, grasping the threadbare sheets of your university’s barebones version of a hospital bed.

You put your head into your hands, breathing deeply as you try to remember the last thing that happened to you.

Yoongi’s dick. The stupid e-mail. The poem. The conspiracy group. Seokjin on a pedestal giving a TedTalk about himself. Yoongi’s dick. Namboob. Fainting in the utility closet. Yoongi’s dick.

The mental gymnastics that your brain is currently undergoing elicits a sound akin to a dying squirrel from your open mouth, and it must have sounded terribly loud and unnerving because the nurse bursts into the room just a few seconds after. The nurse, who must have been an underpaid med student by the looks of the designer purple handbags decorating her sullen cheeks, looks at you with less genuine concern and more acute abhorrence.

In your drowsiness, you don’t realize that your throat had somehow converted into the Sahara desert when you had fainted, so you are just as surprised as the nurse when you start doing a wonderful impersonation of Sadako instead.

“Hoo bwat meh hey?” you articulate, your tongue feeling like an oversized fist trying to work its way from out of your larynx. At the very least, no one can blame you for not trying your best to sound coherent. Seeing your struggle, the apathetic nurse has the decency to reach behind one of the shelves and hand you a cup of water. You grab it from her, gulping the entire thing in one go all while you proceed to not care about the rivulets of water and drool trailing down your chin and onto your crotch.

“Sorry,” you say, not really knowing why you were apologizing in the first place. Perhaps for existing? “I was trying to ask who brought me here.”

The nurse, unsurprisingly, only gives you an indifferent shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Some gray-haired twink came in with you on his back. Apparently, you fainted in front of him for no reason, and when we checked your vitals, everything seemed to be fine.” She gestures at your ragged form, almost as if she didn’t believe that they hadn’t found anything wrong with you. You are obliged to share her sentiments.

“You’re free to leave whenever you want. Just make sure to sleep more and eat. University is tough on kids like you,” she says, turning to leave without another look in your direction. Somehow, you feel insulted even though the nurse hadn’t really done anything to you. Perhaps her lack of concern for your mental wellness and the fact that your newly acquired PTSD after today’s events only warranted “a good night’s sleep” as a form of treatment. Ah, the woes of having zero healthcare. Regardless, you decide to take her up on her advice and head home in hopes of acquiring some semblance of sleep after today’s traumatic episode.

Exiting the clinic, you find that almost no one is left on campus, save for the occasional student on their way to their evening classes. Being at your university during the evening had always been an odd sensation for you, as it reminds you of all the nighttime finals you have had to take in the past. Whenever the sun set and darkness enveloped the campus, it is always a given that you would be able to hear someone shouting obscenities from somewhere in the distance, especially since your university is well-known for the bars and clubs that litter its outskirts. Nonetheless, you hopelessly pray that you won’t pass by any drunk college kids, especially on this Friday night.

Just as you are about to cross the street to get to your bus stop, you notice a familiar face waiting by the entrance of the clinic. You backtrack, staring at the back of her head as she inconspicuously tries to peer into the curtained windows like some sort of pervert. Knowing her, your assumption probably isn’t that far off.

You approach her quietly, carrying your footsteps so that she doesn’t hear you until you place your mouth just beside her ear. Even at this proximity, she is none the wiser to your presence. You blow gently against her neck, whispering, “Sera. What the hell are you doing?”

As expected, she shrieks at you in surprise, almost landing a karate-chop on your face but you are saved by the fact that she had as much hand-eye coordination as a dead man in a coffin. You step back as you watch her slice through the air for another few seconds, her gaze wild before they finally land on your smirking face. Realizing that she had overreacted, she straightens up in a huff, glaring at you with as much annoyance as she can muster (but really, who can stay angry at your cute face for long?)

“Trying to look for that hot doctor again?” You joke, peering inquisitively at her hunched form. You wouldn’t be surprised to find a pair of binoculars behind her back at this point, given by how many times you’ve caught her “observing” potential boyfriends.

“How dare––!” She splutters, ears turning red from your accusation. When she shifts slightly, you notice a black object passing through her hands and trying to covertly slip into her bag. Ah. The binoculars.

“How dare I what? Accuse you of stalking a poor med student who is probably overdosing on Adderall as we speak? Oh, sorry for overstepping my boundaries,” you drawl, grinning at her affronted expression. “Unless, of course, you happened to hear about me fainting this afternoon and you wanted to offer me a ride home? Since you’re such a good friend, after all?

She looks at you, alarmed. “You fainted? When? How?”

“Oh, so now you’re concerned. I could’ve died with the image of Min Yoongi’s penis tattooed under the backs of my eyelids, and my best friend never would’ve known… Who, then, would avenge me and clear my name? Who, then, would take care of my growing collection of scantily clad women figurines––?”

“Did you just say you saw Min Yoongi’s penis? Holy shit!” Sera shrieks, eyes bugging out of their sockets. You are sure everyone within a 5 mile radius must’ve heard her, but you didn’t even have the energy to be mortified. Death always did sound like a great vacation idea, anyway.

“Sure, just scream it out for everyone to hear. Maybe we can get him to come back and do it again so you won’t think I’m crazy,” you mutter, grabbing Sera by the sleeve and tugging her towards the parking lot. “You brought your car, right? Bring me home.”

“Jeez, you drop this major bomb on me as if you were just talking about your cat taking a shit on your bed or something, and now you’re ordering me to bring you home? Cheeky,” Sera huffs, but she lets you drag her regardless.

Luckily, her car is parked relatively close because you honestly don’t know how much longer you can take before your knees give out from under you. It seems that despite the little nap you had at the nurse’s clinic, you hardly feel refreshed at all. All you want is to pass out on your comfortable bed for an indefinite period of time and pray for the demon under your bed to drag you to its depths and skin you alive. Knowing your luck, even the demon wouldn’t be that merciful towards a gremlin like yourself.

Sera begins backing up the car, stealing looks at you as you slowly became one with the car seat. You clench your eyelids shut, hoping that Sera would have the decency to respect your space for now and save the questioning for later. That pipe dream is immediately dashed, however, when she starts speeding down the empty streets and opens her big fucking mouth, her shrill voice reverberating in the small sedan.

“Don’t you dare sleep on me now, young miss! You have an entire weekend to hibernate so crank up that brain of yours for two more minutes and tell me what the fuck happened,” she says, nearly crashing over a trash bin in her haste to interrogate you.

“My brain? What’s that? Pretty sure that old thing disintegrated months ago. I think I shat it out when we had Taco Tuesday that one time in November,” you say, missing the way she snorts back in response. When Sera pinches your side to force you to face forward, your fatigue addled consciousness doesn’t even register the pain until a few seconds later.

“Ow,” you whine lamely.

“That literally took you five seconds to react,” Sera whistles, running over a child’s bike in the process. Neither of you look back to check the damage. “Damn, Min Yoongi’s penis must’ve been hella impressive if you’re this mindfucked. Are the rumors true? He must be packing down there, am I right?”

“Please stop saying the word penis. I’m getting triggered again,” you groan, slapping her lightly. She guffaws loudly, shoulders shaking at your misery.

“Sorry, can’t help being a horny bastard. But seriously, what’s the context? I wasn’t even aware you still talked to him after first year. He was your RA at your freshman dorm, right?”

“I don’t talk to him,” you say. You fidget in your seat, hands twisting and turning on your lap. “I mean. We were never close or anything.”

“Then care to explain how you managed to stand in the presence of Min Yoongi junior and behold his glory? Were you guys about to fuck before you realized his penis probably isn’t going to fit? Or, holy shit… Is he actually fun-sized like the rest of his body is?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sera.”

“Oh my god, he’s totally fun-sized!” She gasps, snatching up her phone while you two waited at a stoplight. “Wait ‘til Cassandra hears about this––”

Despite your diminished motor skills, you manage to grab her phone away from her before she can spread any misinformation to the rest of the student body. Min Yoongi’s penis is his business, and consequently, it seems to have become your business as well. Cue existential dread.

“Will you shut up for two seconds and let me explain? No, he is not fun-sized. I will not divulge any more information regarding that subject,” you say. Sera deflates noticeably beside you. “And no, we were not about to fuck. I just happened upon him while he was… in the midst of some recreational activities.”

“Oh, he’s into that type of shit. Understandable,” Sera nods, sagely. You have no idea what her tone might be implying, but honestly at that point you were too scared to ask. “How’d you find him like that, then? Did you hear him tugging his meat and decide to join in? Because honestly, big mood.”

“No!” you exclaim hotly, slapping her once again. “I’m not like your perverted ass! I was just––” You halt in the middle of your sentence, recollections of the past hours swimming through your mind and the fear and anxiety that had taken over you this afternoon starts to consume you once more.

“Hey, you alright? You got pale all of a sudden,” Sera notes, slowing down in her driving as she makes her way to park in front of your apartment. The two of you can see the lights of your crotchety landlord’s living room are still on, and you hope to God that he isn’t peering outside his windows and preparing to call the police on your friend (again).

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just,” you sigh, staring ahead of you and into the empty street. You don’t know why you’re hesitant to tell her what had happened earlier today. Normally, you would be exploding at the seams right now, weeping in despair at the sorry state of your existence. Then again, you’re not sure if you’re ready to go through the agony of reexperiencing the worst 12 hours of your life. Also, you just wanted to go pass out in your bed and never wake up.

In the end, you decide to tell her. Maybe she could offer a comforting shoulder to cry on. “Okay, so don’t laugh but… You remember the poem that got posted on the CCU Love Letters Facebook page this morning?”

Sera nods, confused. “Yeah? What about it?”

You take a deep breath, feeling your palms begin to sweat as hot licks of shame run down your back. You whisper, “Well. Yeah. I’m the author.”

There is a tangible silence inside the car. You’re afraid to look at Sera, dreading what sort of expression might appear on her face. Disdain? Pity? Mirth? Whatever it is, her quietness makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in alarm. You’re about to book it out of her car and make some shitty excuse about needing to feed your goldfish when you hear the locks of the cardoors click shut. You whip your head towards her, eyes widening when you saw the smug look on her face.

Not a good sign. At all.

“Do my ears deceive me? Is Miss ‘i’m-never-going-to-date-because-romance-is-dead’ Y/N really the author of the sweetest and most romantic poem of the century?” she singsongs, her smirk growing with each word that leaves her lips.

“Who ever said I was against romance?” You retort, cheeks flushing so hotly that you’re sure there is steam coming out of your ears. Sera cackles loudly, slamming her hand so hard into the car horn that it causes one of the wandering cats to jump up high into the air. You are half concerned when you don’t see the poor cat come back down.

“Oh please! When was the last time you dated anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone the entire time we’ve known each other!”

“We met in freshman year. You didn’t know how I was in high school,” you pout, huffing crossly. “And besides. I write romantic poems sometimes. You’ve read my blog posts.”

“Yeah, I know but,” Sera giggles once more, switching her phone on to search for something. When she finds what she is looking for, her eyes light up as she shows you the damned poem that got you into this mess in the first place. “You literally wrote ‘how wonderful is it to find that the dips in your hands look awfully lonely without mine in them?’ and you’re telling me that you wrote that?”

You push the phone away, groaning into your hands when you happen to glance at the number of likes on the post. “Fucking 2000 likes? Really? I’m gonna commit seppuku with your 13-inch dildo, I swear.”

As you let yourself descend into madness once more, you feel Sera’s hand pat your back comfortingly, though you can still hear her stifled giggles. “Okay. To be honest, I kind of knew it was you. No one else can write sappy lovesick bullshit like that and be sincere about it. Who the fuck compares skin to moonlight anymore? Are we in the 16th century?”

“You just said you didn’t believe that I’d write it,” you say. “I need people to not think it’s me. It’s so embarrassing as it is!”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think people are gonna think it’s you. There are a bunch of people in our Creative Writing class. It could be anyone,” Sera says, pinching your cheek lightly.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, probably.” Sera hums, her thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. She pauses, chuckling lightly at something. “Though, I must say. You’re incredibly lucky. If you had used your actual e-mail address instead of your… burner one, you would have been found out immediately.”

“Little victories,” you say, wondering if the prepubescent version of yourself would have known that creating [email protected] would eventually save your life 10 years later in the future. Probably not, but you’ll take it all the same. “Will you unlock the doors now, please? I’m gonna sleep the trauma away and hopefully not be alive by Monday, but if I am… then I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Hold on sister,” she says, restraining you back into your seat with her arm. You cough in surprise, shooting a glare back her way as she keeps you away from your bed longer than you would already like. “If you’re the author of the poem… Then can you tell me who the muse of the poem is? And more importantly, is it someone I know?”

Judging by the salacious look on her face, you know it would be a bad idea telling her. Not that you wouldn’t trust Sera with your life, but––actually, you really would not trust her with anything. Now that you think about it, telling Sera would be the equivalent of giving Kim Seokjin full access to your internet search history, and you have enough brain cells in your inventory to know that some things are worse than death.

“Ugh, can we just drop the subject, please? I really don’t want to have an aneurysm inside your car right now. I can see Mr. Park staring at us through his living room window and we both know you can’t afford bail for the third time this year.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” she sighs, relinquishing her hold on you and allowing you to unlock the door. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting this go! You’re telling me everything when we see each other on Tuesday, understand?”

“I’d rather die, thanks!” You call out, slamming the door shut. “And besides, I’m gonna try to kill the rumors as quickly as possible before someone figures it out.”

“How are you gonna do that? Don’t tell me you’re going to go to each of the guys and explain? Maybe tell them it’s a misunderstanding?” Sera asks, watching you curiously. The very thought of doing that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You gaze downwards at the wet pavement, the feeling of impending doom rapidly becoming familiar.

"That would mean outing myself as the author, so that's definitely a hard pass."

"Suit yourself." Sera shrugs, already beginning to pull away from the driveway. She waves lazily at you, before driving away into the night. You stand outside for a moment longer, sighing deeply as you resign yourself to your new life filled with tomfoolery and bullshittery.

At the very least, there is no where to go but up, right?

[Life Lesson #1: It's important never to test fate with foolish declarations of optimism such as this. It only tempts whatever sadistic force that controls your pathetic human life to do their worst. So of course, it gets worse.]

To your credit, you don't spend your entire weekend wallowing in self-pity and despairing at your current situation. You only spend maybe 90% of it doing just that. The other 10% is used to plan your next plan of action.

Like an idiot, you fill yourself with too much misplaced confidence and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You think to yourself, "Man! I have the whole weekend to think of something to do! Surely my brain will be able to make some sort of plan by the time Monday comes!"

It is a wonder that you are still somehow standing, in a state that some might say resembles being "alive," with how bad your forward thinking is. As it turns out, the weekend slips past you before you know it, with no more than a seedling of a plan than you did during the peak of your mental breakdown.

Suffice to say, you're in deep shit.

Monday comes just as surely as the sun rises from the east, which is to say that time continues to pass despite how much you'd be willing to pay for it to stop. You could live with one kidney, right? (Fate is probably more of a vegan, you surmise.)

Even when the world is ending all around you, it seems that your 8AM music composition class will wait for no one. And so, there you are: dragging your feet to what is usually one of your favorite classes, but with the added bonus of death clinging to your elbows. Perhaps your cosplay of a corpse is a bit too convincing, because most passersby are quick to step around you. Honestly, this is probably for the best, as you aren't sure what type of state your human compassion is at the moment, should someone dare disturb your "peace."

But of course, there is always that one idiot who manages to ruin your day––for the sole reason that he exists, much to your disappointment and chagrin. Hell, even his voice is enough to make your hairs bristle from just how he lilts his words ever so slightly. It is an absolute shame that the shortest route to your class is past his hair salon, so you can only imagine the speed at which your blood pressure rises when you hear him say––

“Miss Park, your split ends! Oh my word, Miss Park! Whatever shall we do but snip, snip, snip all those wretches out of your life, just like how I snip up all my haters! Aha, this is your cue to laugh by the way!” Kim Seokjin guffaws, his stupid voice unable to be muted by ten inches of concrete. Through the hair salon’s windowpane, you can see Seokjin’s hands make quick work of an elderly woman’s hair, his eyes in crescent moons with how loud he laughs. You mentally make a sign of the cross for the disaster that will soon befall that poor woman’s head.

Now, normally you would make haste to your class, with head bowed and shoulders hunched in hopes of that fool-mouthed ninny from seeing you and engaging in some of his usual buffoonery. For whatever brain cells he lacked, Seokjin always seems to have the ability to rope you into his many harebrained discussions, with topics ranging from “how often do you think people think of sleeping with me?” to “do you think if plants could dream, would they dream of sleeping with me?”

You know. The works.

As it is, today is not an ordinary day, and encountering Seokjin has only made you recall the distressing events from Friday. From your panic induced haze, you can only remember murky images of him holding court amongst a crowd of people, telling them how he must be the muse of your damned poem. The faint memory fills you with abject horror as you are reminded, not for the first time, how big his terribly well-sculpted mouth can be and how he will stop at nothing to make sure that everyone believes what he wants. (Despite how horrendous he is as an organism of this earth, you would be a fool to call his looks anything but mediocre. But that’s as far as anything worth praising concerns the likes of him.)

Something takes over you in that moment, something animalistic. As if your dumb monkey brain is going “hoo hoo eek eek… must… eliminate… AWOOGA… BIG THREAT…” and your sensible and empathetic sides are consequently forced to lie dormant in the meantime.

Hence how you find yourself bursting through Spick and Spock Hair Salon, with no plan whatsoever. All you can think of is Seokjin hanging from his balls on the school’s flagpole, and honestly you weren’t all that concerned with how Point A was going to reach Point B(alls). But we’ll deal with that later.

“What was that?” Miss Park hums, her hearing aid somewhat short-circuited with the sensory abuse it has already had to undergo. To Seokjin’s credit, his hands do not falter despite your loud entrance; however, that could mostly be explained by how much louder his own voice is in comparison, but that’s just your humble onion.

“––and basically, Miss Park, there is this poor soul out there who must be dying with embarrassment because their love poem has been exposed to the world without their consent! Now, I may be Aphrodite incarnate, but I am also a gentleman, and so I do not condone force of any kind,” Seokjin drawls, incognizant of the world around him. He continues to apply the perm solution on Miss Park’s curls, the precision at how he works almost impressive if not for the fact that he was entirely abhorrent.

“That’s nice, Jinnie, but will you please shut up? I’m two steps away from turning off my hearing aid, you know,” Miss Park says cheerily.

“STOP WHERE YOU ARE, KIM SEOKJIN! STOP FEEDING LIES TO THE ELDERLY!” You cry, filled with the same type of distress that a young peasant might feel from their first licks of capitalism. Seokjin, the wicked businessman in this terrible analogy, is the one selling his counterfeit goods to the unsuspecting innocent.

Miss Park gasps, turning to Seokjin with betrayal in her eyes. “Oh, I knew it! My perm does make me look older! Just give me the pink highlights like I told you, Jinnie. I saw the youngsters doing it on Facebook,” she says.

Seokjin turns his head towards you in slow-motion, like an ass, and even takes the care to flick his beautifully styled bangs away from his forehead so he can gaze upon you with faux interest. “Oh? Miss Y/N? In my salon? I knew you’d be back here soon enough, especially with those roots… Come, take a seat. Let me bump your sorry 2/10 looking ass to a 2.5/10 at least.”

“If it were not for the laws of this land,” you seethe, cursing him through gritted teeth. You stalk towards him, rolling up your sleeves to show that you mean Business. (Funnily enough, you were wearing a tank top that day.) “I can’t believe you’re even being considered a suspect of the poem’s muse in the first place!”

Seokjin fakes a contemplative look. “Isn’t it because of my moon-like radiance? People have told me that I glow like a newborn babe.”

“You sure have the brains of one,” you retort.

“I heard from my niece that it was because he was an extra in a play as a moon or something,” Miss Park quips helpfully. Seokjin makes an affronted noise, but does not reject her claim.

“You were, like, a prop?” You snicker, forgetting for a moment what you were doing. You watch with wicked fascination as his ears turn red.

“Everyone has to start from somewhere! And so what? I had to hang ten feet in the air with a wedgie the entire time! My battle scars are what make me stronger.” He sniffs, upturned nose and all. You and Miss Park snort, not at all inconspicuously.

He pours the remainder of the solution all over Miss Park’s head and slaps her not-too gently on the back, clasping his hands together gleefully. “Well! That should do the trick. Relax, Miss Park, and let the chemicals do all the talking or whatever.” You take mental note to never come back to his establishment ever again so long as you live.

“Ma’am, if you’d like to save yourself from listening to the avalanche of anger that I’m about to unleash, I would suggest turning off your hearing aid for a moment,” you say.

She shrugs her shoulders, reclining further into her seat and resting her legs on a nearby bench. “Sure. YOLO, as the kids say.”

At her consent, you promptly slap the hearing aid out of her ear so you can scream at Seokjin in relative privacy. Miss Park doesn’t even seem to notice, and this should’ve been an indicator of how fucked up Seokjin’s salon is if she didn’t even seem slightly shocked by your actions. (How could she, when Seokjin literally just dumped fucking chemicals all over her scalp? Isn’t that illegal?)

“I’m going to sensibly reason with you first,” you scream and jab at his chest, being unreasonable.

“Okay, sounds believable,” Seokjin replies, raising a brow. He gestures for you to follow him to where the cashier is supposed to be, except that it is so early in the morning that the other employee that works with him isn’t even in at the moment. You still have yet to know why Seokjin opens the shop at 8AM in the first place.

“Why the hell are you spreading misinformation to random people like that? You know damn well that the poem isn’t about you,” you huff, crossing your arms. Seokjin, the ever-loving twat that he is, matches your pose to mock you. He even juts out his hip the way that you do.

“Of course it’s about me! How could it not be about me? Did you not read the part about how the author looks at the moon and thinks about my skin? Everyone knows that Etude House is dying to have me as their face mask model!”

The prickling urge to strangle him strengthens. “Listen,” you say, teeth gnashing from the effort of keeping yourself from leaping and ending it all. “For once in your life, is it really that hard to believe that the world doesn’t revolve around you?”

“Oh, you’re one of those heliocentric believers? Jincentric is where it’s at, Miss Y/N!” He laughs, slapping his knee at the pure hilarity of his joke. He does not pause once at your disdainful visage.

“Fine! Believe what you want! But I need you to stop telling everyone that you’re the muse of that poem. The rumor won’t die if you keep stoking the flame with your inflamed ego.”

Seokjin ponders your words for a second, looking at you with a contemplative stare. He does not speak for so long that you’re almost willing to let yourself hope that he has acquiesced, until––”When have you ever done anything for me?”

You gape at his sudden accusation. “Excuse me? I’ve done a lot for you!”

“Like?”

You pause, racking your brain. “Uh. I haven’t killed you?”

“Fair,” he nods, stroking his chin. “But that won’t be enough to stop me. I love being admired, so fuck you for even assuming that I would stop talking about myself. However, I’ll do it for a price.”

“Price?” You groan, fixing him with a glare. “You know damn well that I’m poor, but name it and I’ll try to pay it as soon as you can.”

Seokjin grins, his pearly whites much too incandescent with how dark his soul is. “Invest in my JiHope t-shirt business. I need, like, $500 left to reach the first goal of my kickstarter.”

You stare at him, completely baffled. Is this dude for real, or is he just a caricature turned to life? “You’re a heathen, do you know that?” you say, disgust oozing from every orifice of your body.

“I am feeling quite heathen-ish today, thanks for noticing,” he replies, somber. “Does that mean you accept my proposal?”

You hate how his voice sounds even the slightest bit optimistic, because that means he really does think you’re as stupid as he is. “Can you be serious for once? And before you say it, don’t fucking pull a dad joke on me and say some shit like ‘how can I be serious if I’m Jin?’ because I will not hesitate to bite two inches off your dick.”

“That would still leave 13-inches, so to be honest I should be thanking you.” He shrugs his shoulders, unashamed of existing in this day and age. “And no, I can’t be serious. It goes against my brand.”

“Your brand of being a fucking menace to society?” you grouse.

“Exactly.”

You are seriously ready to explode, and it isn’t going to be pretty. Lord knows that Seokjin would hate having your guts splattered on his overpriced Gucci slides. “Please, can you just stop talking about the poem? It’s bad enough that the original post is getting hundreds of likes by the hour, and if I know one thing, it’s probably mostly from your own influence.”

With a hundred thousand followers under his belt, it probably isn’t that much of a stretch. As much as he is the spawn of Satan, he is rather popular among your peers. Not that popularity has ever been a good measure of compassion. Case in point:

Seokjin grins, misleadingly angelic. “Aw, are you calling me an influencer? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re insufferable!” you yell, glowering at the overly-smug theatre student. You stomp your foot on the ground, pointing a finger in his direction as your nostrils flare in annoyance. Like hell that you’re going to let this shithead make you his bitch! “If you’re not going to do as I say, then I’m going to pester you throughout your entire shift and follow you to class if I have to!”

Big words from such a weak-willed person such as yourself. It does not take you long to realize how fatal of a mistake it is to make such a promise, because you never really stopped to think about the actual logistics of such a stunt (i.e. having to be around Seokjin for longer than your recommended daily dose). You can only imagine what such an experience would entail.

After a 3-hours of watching a buffoon salvaging humanity’s hair-do’s and don’ts (his words not yours), you feel as if his very demonic energy was sucking your life force with a curly straw. You fear that when you close your eyes tonight, you will be haunted by images of his Pacific-wide shoulders and his head tilted back in maniacal laughter as he snips away with less care than a toddler. Well, at least that’s what he appears to be doing, because occasionally you will zone out but then return to the sight of a fairly satisfied customer with glossy looking locks, so perhaps he isn’t as inept as you had imagined.

Your amazement is short-lived, however, when he opens his mouth and the cycle begins anew.

After finishing his last client for the morning, he makes his way to his first class of the day. You are reminded of the fact that you are missing your own morning classes as a result, but you know that you cannot afford to let him off your sight, lest he make a bigger fool of himself (and consequently, make your life a bigger hell than it already is).

You trudge behind him, ensuring that he never strays further than three feet away from you. It’s pretty easy to keep up with him, due to the fact that he always makes a point to pause whenever he sees his own reflection (in windows, shiny surfaces, some poor boy’s bicycle helmet––his narcissism knows no bounds.)

When he finally makes a full stop outside one of the lecture halls, he intentionally sidesteps in front of you. The suddenness of it causes you to bump against his steely back, bruising your nose enough to make you yelp in pain. You’re just about to cuss him out when he turns to face you, uncharacteristically serious.

“Now Y/N, I need you to stay out here in the corridor like a good girl, okay? There’s a strict rule of having no pets allowed,” he coos, making the fatal mistake of trying to stroke your head. He shrieks when your teeth meets his palm, but you are unrepentant.

When you let go, he tries to appear unfazed, blowing you a kiss instead as he saunters off into the lecture hall. Not wanting to disturb the class anyway, you decide to heed his words and squat outside in the hallway, occasionally looking through the small window to glare menacingly at the pink-haired bastard. Despite the holes you wish you were burning into the back of his skull, he remains aloof to your imaginary death ray as he continues to take studious notes of whatever his professor is saying.

On the other hand, his classmates are a different story. They send each other wary looks, wondering why the hell this random person was doing a Jack Torrance impression. When the clock strikes, they all make a beeline for the exit, clearly avoiding looking you in the eye as they speedwalk to their next classes. Seokjin makes it out last, his gait the picture of perfect nonchalance. He has the audacity to look surprised to see you there, like you were an old friend he had not expected to meet until you both reached the pearly gates (or fiery pits, but that’s unimportant right now).

“You’re still here, Miss Golum? Have you been good? I’m honestly surprised that you are as stubborn as I am.” He whistles lowly, shouldering his backpack with a smirk. He walks down the hall towards the exit, not checking to see if you were keeping up or not.

You proceed to bite his penis in half to keep him in place. Okay, not really, but you know… one can dream.

What you actually do is follow him as he heads to the cafeteria, presumably to sustain the mortal body he has chosen to possess. It takes him an agonizing thirty minutes to decide what he wants to eat for lunch, and another thirty minutes to say his extensive list of food products that he will most likely be consuming within the next hour or so. You’ve never seen a fast food worker look so dead before, and you’re sure the poor college student behind the counter had zoned out after Seokjin ordered his tenth happy meal.

As the two of you stand to the side to wait for his order, he turns to you expectantly. “So,” he begins.

“Fa,” you retort, followed by a gasp of shock from the elder.

“Do my ears deceive me? Your first dad joke… And to think, all it took was for you to hang out with me for four hours to initiate you as an apprentice.” He weeps loudly, faking tears in an impressively short amount of time. That doesn’t stop you from kicking him in the shin, though.

“Don’t worry, I’m already dead inside. There’s no soul left for you to consume,” you reply dryly. He tuts, shaking his head.

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was just about to ask… As much as I have enjoyed our quality bonding time together––”

“I’ll gladly piss on your grave, don’t forget,” you interject.

“––I was wondering why you’re so adamant to dispel the rumors about the poem? You don’t seem like the type to engage in campus gossip.”

Oh shit. Perhaps there is something more than hot air in that tiny head of his.

You flounder about like a fish for a bit, your mouth opening and closing as you think of an explanation that wouldn’t out yourself in the process. You feel your cheeks reddening, only two seconds away from steam whistling out of your eardrums. Broken stammers are all you can manage as he waits expectantly, but luckily, you don’t have to think of a response when a nearby commotion forces the two of you to back away from each other.

A gaggle of freshmen storm through from out of nowhere, forcing the both of you to be swept away as they all made their way towards a pop-up stand in the middle of the court. Accustomed to the borderline cringey overexcitement of the youngest students in the university, you are quick to dismiss their behavior and decide to search for Seokjin, until you hear one of the little freshmen say something that catches your attention.

"You think the t-shirts are still available? Chaeyeon said the hoodies sold out this morning, so I'm scared that we'll be too late," a young girl says, her hands clutched to her chest as she tries to tiptoe over the crowd to survey the state of the merchants just up ahead.

Her friend pats her back assuringly. "Don't worry. The announcement on the page said they're bringing in the reserve stocks from the backroom, which is probably why everyone's here. We just have to get there first." They proceed to elbow their way through the throng of people, and completely disappear from your view. Where they stood, more people soon took their place until a sizeable swarm has taken over half the area of the floor.

Now, this exchange isn't necessarily a red flag to most people, since many clubs and organizations at your university often sold different types of goods to raise funds for their projects. However, given the circumstances that you have become entrenched in the last few days, you can never be too cautious of innocent utterances such as this.

You take a few steps back, trying your best to see over the heads of the crowd that is steadily growing larger. After a few minutes of fruitless attempts to squeeze through sweaty pits and cacophonous teenagers, you are ready to just give up and let it go when the same pair of girls from earlier exit from the side, with numerous folded up shirts in their arms.

You hasten towards them, barely being able to latch onto their shoulders to stop them from escaping. The shorter of the girls squeals in surprise, dropping her prized possessions onto the floor. She turns to you, anger ready to burst forth from her tongue when she looks you in the face. She softens almost immediately, wrath evaporating in the wind. Confused, you're just about to ask her if she knows you from somewhere when her friend cuts you to the chase.

"Oh my God! It's her!" she squeals, reaching for your hand and shaking it so vigorously that you swear you hear your shoulder bones pop out of its socket. The girl who had dropped her shirts just continues to stare at you in awe, her mouth agape as she remains speechless, apparently from your presence alone.

You feel the dread begin to build in the pits of your stomach. "It's me?" you say, pointing to yourself with your free hand.

"Yes! Miss Y/N, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you! We are big fans of your work on the CCU Pen Blog! Your short story about the talking brick wall honestly brought me to tears," she gasps out, eyes twinkling with unrestrained reverence. Judging from the death grip she has on your hand, you can certainly say that this girl isn't lying.

While you are aware of the small following that you've accumulated over the past two years as one of the top contributors in your university's open writing forum, that isn't to say that you have ever met a fan as fervent as the two before you. Still on edge from everything that has been going on, you still can't let your guard down around them.

After a bit of effort on your part, you are finally able to pry yourself away from the girl's tight hold. Coughing lightly into your abused fist, you fix them with a wary glance. They return it with unnervingly excited stares of their own.

"Um. Thank you very much, ladies. I just wanted to ask you about the function going on over there?" you ask, pointing over at the still bustling shop booth. At your query, the girls actually look confused, as if you are the weird one in this interaction.

"You don't know? I thought you of all people should know about the merch sale happening right now," the quieter girl speaks up, bewildered. She bends down to pick up the shirts she had dropped, turning it over to show you the design that you had previously failed to notice. What a terrible mistake you have committed.

(Was the mistake looking at the t-shirt? Was it waking up today? Was it deciding to live after your mother conceived you in the womb? Truly, where does the blame game truly end in this foul existence that you call your own?)

The scream that is elicited from your throat cannot be described as anything from this world, because you are sure everyone in the vicinity might have stopped breathing for a few seconds after hearing it. The macabre quality of your voice even caused the two girls in front of you to flee in fright, leaving you with the wretched t-shirt in your trembling palms.

There, printed on the t-shirt, right in front of your mortal eyes, is an image you would rather that you had not seen even if it meant having to suckle from Kim Seokjin's teets for all eternity.

In all its poorly printed glory, your face is plain as day. Anyone would be able to recognize that it was you: in the middle of chewing what appears to be a whole turkey leg.

There you were, with ketchup dripping down your cheek, sitting just outside the Fine Arts building as you scarfed down the poor piece of poultry because you had been too lazy to cut up into smaller, more refined chunks. Like the fucking caveman that you are, you had held the leg like a police baton, mouth open so wide that you'd think you might have unhinged your jaw to get the entire thing to fit in there.

You think that's all? It gets worse.

Somehow, the perpetrator of this terrible t-shirt just has to make you look even less attractive than humanly possible. Superimposed beside your sauce-stained self is none other than a PNG image of Jeon Jungkook in his prime. With his sleek black hair pushed back to reveal his forehead, you are sure that this photo is the same one that everyone on campus had swooned over just a few weeks prior, when he had been chosen to model in an advertisement for some club's fundraising event. He is the picture of quiet confidence, which might make you laugh on any other day, since the boy is anything but that in his day to day life. You only ever interact with him when you see him manning the front desk of the library, and he always has his head bowed over a book, unaware of the stares of his many admirers.

Clearly, the injustice of having a literal god beside your hulk-ish photo is downright cruel, but this optical torment does not stop there.

Underneath the photos of the two of you, there is a short line of text that is honestly the worst part of the entire thing. In bold, sans serif font, it reads “Y/NKOOK SUPPORTERS INITIATIVE” with a copious amount of black heart emojis tacked on. In a smaller, but similarly visible manner, it also reads “The Moon Poem is about them and I will stand on this rock until I die!” There are also numerous 100 and fire emojis scattered around the entire shirt.

It’s terrible. It’s downright despicable. It’s the worst thing to ever grace your vision, and that’s saying something, considering that you’ve met your fair share of delusional graphic designers.

Another scream rips from your throat––more livid, this time.

It is at that moment when you realize that maybe Thanos was right––maybe some people really do deserve to die for the betterment of civilization.

Perhaps the crowd of eagerly waiting customers can sense the heat from your unfathomable anger, because they quickly part like the Red Sea as you stomp over to the front of the lines where you will likely find the perpetrator of this heinous crime.

There is a young boy with droopy eyes standing by the tables of merchandise, his hands quickly counting wads of bills as he jams them haphazardly into his pink Hello Kitty fanny pack. He doesn't even bother looking up when you approach him, still busy with his profits, when you clear your throat to catch his attention.

"Are you the one in charge of this fucking circus?" You snarl, fists itching to come into contact with his cheeks. He hums disinterestedly, zipping up his gaudy fanny pack with a tired sigh.

"No, ma'am. I'm just the hired help," he drawls, turning away from you as he gestures vaguely at the mountains of goods still left for purchase. "Are you interested in something or what? There are still 30 people waiting to buy, so I'd rather you not back up the line please."

At the end of your patience, you admit that perhaps grabbing the poor boy by the collar might have been a bit drastic. Still, you're itching to know who the source of all this madness is, so you don't feel all that guilty when he makes a choking sound from your act of brute force. Despite your strong grip on his windpipe, his dead fish-eyes do not disappear. In fact, he looks exasperated more than anything.

"Listen lady, are you going to buy something or what? Who even the fuck are you?"

You splutter, staring incredulously at the younger. Who the fuck are you? You aren't the type to expect people to know who you are but you can at least expect that the person selling goods with your face on it would know who you are! Like, how the hell does he not know that you were the same person on the damned picket fans and keychains?

"I don't––what the hell––" you stammer, speechless for the first time in a while.

"OWO what's this? Is this a new campus couple shipping booth that just opened? Do you guys sell JiHope versions too?" Just in time to witness your second mental breakdown of the day, Seokjin makes his convenient re-entrance as he sidles up beside you. He has two burgers in hand, one of which he is halfway done eating.

You gape at him. "Did you buy a burger for me?"

Seokjin snorts, stuffing the entire remainder of the sandwich into his unfathomably large mouth. "No, you idiot. They’re both for me," he replies, with surprising coherency despite the dribbles of meat and bread product spilling onto his chin. You swear you can see him unhinge his jaw just the slightest bit.

He bends down to pick up one of the fallen pins from the floor, groaning at the sound of his back cracking. "Oh shit, that hurt!"

Unable to help yourself despite still having a freshman in a chokehold, you quip automatically "Yikes, that sounds like a couple of dinosaur bones creaking. You alright?"

Not missing a beat, Seokjin replies "Nah. I just can’t help having a bad back with how big my dick is."

The young boy taps you on the shoulder, reminding you once more of the situation you are in. "Can you let go? My shift is over so you can interrogate the next dude instead," he drawls, having the audacity to yawn at you.

Taking pity on him, you do as he asks. He straightens up, pulling his rumpled collar down before unclasping the fanny pack from around his waist. Another similarly dead-eyed young boy (who was incredibly tall, much to your chagrin––obnoxiously tall young men ALWAYS had agendas, take Seokjin for example) takes the bag from him. He gives you a short once over, no signs of recognition present in his expression at all. When he sees Seokjin, however, his reaction is a lot more than you expected.

"Oh my God, Seokjin? Holy shit, I'm a big fan!" The new boy gasps, pushing aside a customer in favor of reaching over to shake Seokjin's hand. Ever the slut for praise and appreciation, Seokjin shakes his hands with the ease of a seasoned politician.

"Aren't we all?" he laughs, haughty. The other boy laughs too, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained admiration. You sneer in disgust at the hearts visibly emanating from his body.

"My name is Soobin, and I just love your performance in last week's production at the Campus Theatre! Would you mind signing my assh––"

"Hold on," you interrupt, glaring daggers at Seokjin. "Did you fucking do this? Did you make this fucking merch booth of me and Jungkook?"

Seokjin frowns, annoyed that you had been impetuous enough to stop this spontaneous meet and greet session between him and his loyal fan. "No, of course not. Who even the fuck is Dungcock, or whatever the hell that dude's name is."

"You fucking dumb piece of shit––" you say, about to bite off his balls for real when your phone begins to ring, saving Seokjin for the time being. You recognize the ringtone to be the one you set for your alarms, and you realize that after all the commotion from this morning, you have forgotten about the tutoring session you are supposed to have with Hoseok today. Since you had cancelled last Friday's session after your spectacular psychotic meltdown, you know that you couldn't possibly skip this one as well.

Shutting your phone off, you groan, fixing Seokjin with your most solemn gaze. "Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I have to go tutor Hoseok soon, and I've already skipped all my classes today by trying to convince your imbecilic ass to be empathetic for once in your miserable life so I'm begging you for the last time––please stop spreading the rumors about the poem," you finish, tears welling up as you finally register the fatigue weighing down your bones. It's only Monday, and you can't wait for the sweet release of death.

Seokjin is silent the entire while. The merchandise boy, Soobin, has already left the two of you alone, becoming disinterested the moment you uttered the word "listen." You're breathing heavily, bracing yourself for the inevitable sound of his windshield wiper-esque laughter. To your complete and utter surprise, his mocking does not come.

Instead, he puts down his second burger, stuffing it inside his back pocket (presumably for safekeeping). He wipes his hands on his shirt, smearing ketchup sauce on it before levelling you with his gaze. He appears like he is about to acquiesce to your demands.

Is this it? Will you allow yourself to hope? Has Kim Seokjin actually developed compassion during the last 20 seconds of your heartfelt plea? Are you finally going to lay to rest the rumor that he does not actually have a second stomach where his heart should be?

Then, "Okay Y/N. I'll do it."

Hope rises just beyond the horizon.

He raises a finger, "But––"

And just like that, hope takes a pounding to the ass (lubelessly) and dies before it even has the chance to break past the peaks of your mountain of crushed dreams.

"––you have to admit that you're the author of the poem and then I'll stop exacerbating the rumors."

You can feel the demon living inside you just itching to climb its way out of your ass and circle its hands around Seokjin's larynx. Hell, you can't say you wouldn't do it yourself. "WHAT? NO!! THAT'S LITERALLY––I'M NOT EVEN––" you scream, shocked and enraged at the same time.

Seokjin rolls his eyes, placing his perfectly manicured hand on his hip. "Save it, babe. I know you're the author. As annoying and stupid as you are––"

"Hey!"

"––you've always been a pretty good writer and I would recognize your writing style anywhere. Not to say that I read your works religiously or anything, but I mean... I see your writing on the newspapers that I use to pick up my dog's shits, so I guess I read them sometimes," he says, not looking you in the eyes. The tips of his ears are turning red, but you hardly notice his embarrassment when you're more amazed that he even acknowledged your talent in the first place. You guys aren't even friends!

"Wow. I don't even know what to say."

"Just admit you're the author and we're good." Seokjin smirks, patting you lightly on the shoulder.

You frown. "Isn't that counterproductive? I want the rumors to stop, not for them to be related to me."

"Which is a sentiment that I cannot fathom at all, since I crave the attention." He sniffs, glowering at you. "You can imagine the sacrifice I am bestowing upon you by having to relinquish this newfound fame just so your little crush stays hidden."

"How benevolent of you," you deadpan.

"And since you didn't deny it, I'm assuming that you are the author after all. Besides, I just wanted you to tell me the truth, mostly so I can bully you for writing sickly sweet love poems about yours truly."

"Okay, I'll admit. I am the author. You got me," you grunt, rubbing your temples. "But there is no way in HELL that I wrote Moonlight Sonata for you. I'd rather eat my own intestines than write anything remotely flattering about you."

"That's what they all say," Seokjin says, sighing dreamily. "To be honest, I knew you were the author from the beginning and I just wanted to annoy you until you caved. I didn't think you would be that stressed over the stupid poem enough to follow me around for an entire day. That crush must be embarrassing, huh?"

"It's not!" you exclaim hotly. You clear your throat, forcing the blush around your cheeks to die down. "It's just... It was supposed to be private." Your voice breaks off into a whisper, vulnerability lacing your words.

It's true––the only reason you wanted all of this to be over was because it was never even supposed to have happened in the first place. Your words and stories were always open to the public eye. You gave and you gave and you gave, although that has never been a problem. You loved sharing your thoughts and feelings; it was one of the greatest things about being writer. You enjoyed hearing how people related to your experiences because it made you feel seen, it made you feel known. You were not alone in this journey, and that had made all the difference.

This time, however, you had preferred to go through this alone. Mostly because even you were not sure what it was that you were going through. How were you supposed to share this part of yourself with others when you did not even know what it was that you were feeling? You had poured every inch of your soul onto those pages, and to have yourself completely barren to the world like it was nothing––

That had been catastrophic to you. But at the end of the day, there was nothing you can do except to try and silence it.

Seokjin considers your sad form, watching you until a small secretive smile inches its way on his lips. You scowl, not liking the way he looks like he knows something that you don't.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothing," Seokjin whistles, winking provokingly. He laughs obnoxiously, not faltering even when you kick him in the sin. "Just that I know you have a crush on me and you're just embarrassed to admit it. Thank God that I'm a great actor, so I guess I'll pretend for your sake."

"You're not my––" you start, before giving up mid-sentence. Was there truly any use to arguing with Seokjin? You'd rather not waste any more saliva than you already have. "Whatever. Believe what you want. All that matters is that you do what I asked you to do."

"Sure thing, Shakespeare," Seokjin scoffs, flicking you lightly on the forehead. "Also, in payment for my services, you are required to watch my next play AND attend at least three of my rehearsals and cheer for me every time I appear in a scene. I require a bouquet of flowers at every appearance."

You're about to argue, (fruitlessly, you might add), when a barrage of buzzes coming from your back pocket stops you in your tracks. You slip out your phone, and you see dozens of texts from a worried Hoseok asking where you are. You reply a quick "otw" to him before focusing back on Seokjin.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll fucking kill you the next time I see you, but... thank you. I know it's hard for you to be kind to anything other than your reflection." You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows. Saying thank you to a troglodyte is harder than it seems. "And thanks for reading my works. We're still not friends or anything, by the way. Hope you remember that."

"Wouldn't dream of forgetting," Seokjin chuckles. "Me? Friends with you? A 10 walking around with a negative 1? Fat chance." He waves goodbye, blowing you an obnoxiously loud kiss before stalking off away from you. The bulge of his smooshed burger has left an unsightly grease stain all over the back of his jeans.

Before you turn to go to the exit, you pass by Soobin who was still busy with customers. You slip a few bills into his pocket, tiptoeing to whisper into his ear. "Here's twenty bucks. Go kick Seokjin in the balls for me."

When the double doors slam behind you, the beautiful sound of Seokjin's pained howl bids you the cheery farewell that you deserve.

796 notes · View notes

inkmemes · 5 years

Text

30 rock season one ( 2006 ) sentence starters ↪ alter as you see fit

“i’m just getting a hot dog.”

“this fat suit smells like corn chips.”

“the beverage situation around here is reprehensible.”

“i thought they would find it interesting, but they really did not.”

“you have the boldness of a much younger woman.”

“would you describe yourself as ‘cat competent’?”

“i’m from the government and i’m here to inspect your chicken nuggets.”

“you smoke weed, right, [name]?”

“if you ever want to piss off your parents, you come see me.”

“superman does good; you’re doing well. you need to study your grammar, son.”

“i guess you must be embarrassed if you’re hiding in the storage closet.”

“i can tell from your stress level that you have not been touched in any way in quite some time.”

“i love how it catches the light like diamonds.”

“[name] is a very tender, beautiful man. he’s awesome.”

“people were yelling and i got confused about the rules.”

“career-wise, i’m just gonna marry rich and then design handbags.”

“dress every day like you’re gonna get murdered in those clothes.”

“i once tried to make mashed potatoes with laundry detergent!”

“if you were any other woman on earth, i would be turned on right now.”

“it only looks like i'm walking out of a starbucks when, actually, i'm doing the robot goin' backwards into a starbucks.”

“the bottom line is, [name] is my boyfriend because he inquired. he was the only applicant and i am not ... doin’ great.”

“you have to stuff your heart with steel wool and tinfoil.”

“now make sure you drink plenty of fluids, and get something to eat.”

“that was my blood cookie!”

“i didn’t know what you wanted, so i ordered you a cheeseburger.”

“i know this great karaoke place where you can get a pedicure while you sing.”

“i already have a drink. do you think he'd buy me mozzarella sticks?”

“he’s so funny. he does this thing where he screams at limo drivers.”

“i already have all the names picked out. if it’s a girl, bookcase. or sandstorm. or maybe hat. but that’s more of a boy’s name.”

“my mother always told me that even when things seemed bad there's someone else who's having a worse day. like being stung by a bee or getting a splinter. or being chained to a wall in someone's sex dungeon.”

“i have a small ferret farm about 60 miles north of the city. it's not much, but it is self-sufficient.”

“ is it true that bread eats away at your brain?”

“i'm sorry, [name]. i smelled crazy in here and i assumed it was you.”

“he looked at me with those crazy handsome-guy eyes. it was like the death star tractor beam when the falcon is---.”

“oh, god, no. something is wrong with this. i have upset the natural balance of things.”

“this is an exercise in constant humiliation.”

“hey, we all have uncles who are cops, so just take it down a notch.”

“i ate way too much oxygen.”

“it disappoints me to see you without a dream, content with this meaningless, pitiful job.”

“you got two types of women in this world: one who gives you strength and one who takes strength from you like delilah took strength from samson in that movie.”

“well, if you're looking to sneak out the window, it doesn't open. i already tried it.”

“you can actually make him happy. and that makes me want to sit on a knife!”

“oh, just to know that she’s filled with bile over me warms my heart.”

“we gotta order some more champagne, go and jump on my helicopter, and buzz trump tower until don comes out on the roof and begs us to stop.”

“i mean, if you met her, you might think she's wonderful, but believe me, she is the succubus from the bowels of hell.”

“at first i hated it, and then i liked it. and then i hated it again..”

“they like you. they're very good at sensing debilitating loneliness in a person.”

“no, i don’t want to get in it; i want to blow it up and run away from it in slow motion.”

“he's not replaceable as my friend.”

“[name], what happened in your childhood to make you believe that people are good?”

“i love america. just because i think gay dudes should be allowed to adopt kids and we should all have hybrid cars, doesn't mean i don't love america.”

“and i will always love you.”

“you know, when i leave work at night, i am just riding on a subway car full of scary, teenaged people.”

“i was princess leia, like, four hallowe’ens in a row.”

“what could i do? i picked up the check and i made out with him a little bit in the taxi.”

“you know what? i'm gonna eat your family!”

“i just wanted you to know that i've loved being your mentor. and it's been an honor having you be my manatee.”

“i'm gonna start a brand-new life in arizona under the new name ‘ron mexico’.”

“i haven’t seen [name] since i bailed him out of disney jail.”

"even though there is the whole confession thing, that's no free pass. because there is a crushing guilt that comes with being a catholic. whether things are good, or bad, or you're simply eating tacos in the park. there is always the crushing guilt.”

“somehow i feel oddly guilty about that.”

“maybe you should seduce him and get him to tell you all his secret plans.”

“love is like an onion, and you peel away layer after stinky layer until you're just weeping over the sink.”

“ he told this story about trying to make french toast for his mom when he was a kid and he started crying!.”

“i'm sorry to do this at work, i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“right, but isn't that one of those rules like, "don't walk between the subway cars," and all the cool people just do it anyway?”

“i feel more confused and betrayed than those people that worked with tootsie.”

“you probably don’t remember me. i’m [name]. we met the other day.”

“i really don’t know how much more of this i can take.”

“i have hollow bones, like a bird.”

“ow. careful, my bones.”

"this promotion is a lot more money - like ‘get away with murdering my first wife’ kind of dough.”

“[name] and i have been dating a month. do you think i should be mad that i don’t have a ring?”

“we have an attraction that can only be described as wolf-like. lupine.”

“make me a smoothie, and let’s go clubbing.”

"no, no, no, no! i can hear you. i just wanted to make sure you could hear you.”

“i’d rather die famous than to live for 100 years like this.”

“i'd invite you in, but i got a living room full of dead chimney birds.”

“honestly? i no longer think you're doing a terrible job. and, uh, i'm very proud of you.”

#rp meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Cool Party the Other Night

Author: Thieving-Gypsy

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Howard/OFC

It's a few days after Howard's birthday party, and Vince is still courting that girl he met. Well. "Courting" doesn't cover it, really. Howard winces at a particularly loud moan from upstairs, the creak of bedsprings and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the headboard against the wall. If that's chipped the paint and they have to redecorate, Vince better not think that's coming out of petty cash. No sir, that's coming directly out of Vince's hairspray budget. Let's see how smug he is then, Howard thinks, feeling quite smug himself at the thought of getting one over on him. It doesn't last. There's a giggle from upstairs, it could be coming from either one of them. Howard slumps against the counter, propping his chin on his hand and wondering which deity he could have offended to make his life like this. If this is karma, karma is wrong. He's fiercely intelligent, devilishly handsome, his talents are many and varied, his sense of humour is witty and whimsical, he helps old ladies across the road and then helps them back again when they hit him with their handbags and snap that they never wanted to cross the road anyway. Howard Moon is a good person (Howard thinks to himself) but where's the payoff? Vince is the one who ends up risking friction burns on his johnson, even after all his crimes against good taste and that shocking ridiculous scene on the roof the night of the party where he took advantage of Howard's good nature to save his own neck. The only thing Howard got was a night spent terrified and crying in the bottom of the airing cupboard hoping Old Gregg would get bored of waiting and go away, but every time he opened the door to check Gregg was there tapping his foot and smiling and staring like a serial killer. I can wait all night, Howard, I'm Old Gregg! he said, as if that explained it all. Naboo kicked him out eventually with the rest of the party stragglers, then gave Howard a disgusted look and called him a batty crease when Howard awkwardly bought him a bunch of flowers the next morning to say thank you. It's a good thing the shop's been so quiet lately. Customers don't need to hear this kind of nonsense when they're innocently looking for a rare Bleedin' Gums Murphy LP, it's just not professional. Or maybe they would like it, but that sort of clientele doesn't belong here anyway. You've got to keep a sense of pride when you're a shopkeeper. Even in a dodgy part of town, even if the last customer you saw buying something was a wide-eyed teenage boy paying for Vince's autograph three days ago, you still need your pride or you might as well be dead. He sort of wishes he was, listening to those dirty noises get louder and faster for what feels like the billionth cycle. And then the bell above the door rings, sounding like a hallelujah. A girl comes into the shop. An angel with black and red hair and skin like smooth pale cream. Howard stands up quickly and adjusts his hat to a rakish charming sort of angle, smoothing down the front of his shirt and giving her his very best smile. She looks sort of frightened then. Well, that's not unusual, she probably saw something unpleasant outside. It's that sort of street. "Good afternoon madam," he starts – then all of a sudden he recognises her from that ghastly spin the bottle game at the party and feels himself turn pale. She had a number eight stuck on her back, and she heard Naboo trick Howard's confession out of him. Could his life get any more tragic and painful? Yes, he discovers, because she recognises him too. "Hey, Howard," she says. He can't tell whether she's smirking or smiling. "Cool party the other night." "Ha ha, yes, it was rather, wasn't it? Ha ha. I hope you tried the quiche, I made it myself."

"Oookay." Surely it's a smile. She's coming closer, anyway, right over to where Howard is, putting the silver jacket she's carrying on the counter between them. What does it mean? Is it some sort of offering? Is this how women offer themselves? He feels the blood rise back in his cheeks, but then she speaks again and ruins it. "Vince gave me that to borrow cos it was cold walking home, can you give it back to him? When he's finished," she adds, glancing at the ceiling. She really is smirking this time, and that strikes him as very odd. Isn't she jealous? Most girls would be jealous and go running out of the shop weeping and talking about nunneries because there's no point any more if Vince has found someone else. Maybe he's in with a shot after all! Howard smooths his moustache with his fingertips, very glad he put on his best taupe rollneck this morning even without a special occasion planned. Surely that's fate. Serendipity. Something. He can see them already, blissfully content in a country cottage, all crawling honeysuckle and chirruping birds, making sweet fulfilling love together every night while the children sleep soundly and dream of happy things and a team of editors go back to college to train for different careers because the world-famous novelist-poet-playwright Howard Moon's words are so perfect, so incredibly gripping, informative and rich with life-changing meaning, that he needs no changes made at all. He realises he's nodding his head like a dog ornament on the back shelf of a car, and makes himself stop. "Of course, madam, of course, I'll see that he gets it post-haste." "Cheers." Eight gives him that smile again and turns round to go. Howard panics and bangs into a shelf in his rush to get out from behind the counter and block her way. "While you're here, might I interest you in the soothing jazz tones of-" "No. I don't think you might." "Well then, what about..." Everything in the shop is shit it's all shit and he hates it here and his life should have been so different and why does nothing ever ever ever go right? "This lovely flying jacket? Vintage World War Two, genuine bullet hole in the collar to add that bit of authenticity and you can barely even see the bloodstains, ha ha ha..." She actually laughs at that, it bubbles up and spills out and she looks like it surprises her but it's a definite laugh. "You're a crack up, Howard, you're hilarious. I didn't bring any money. I might come back another time though and you can show me someone's torn parachute or a charred ejector seat that didn't open properly." Is that a date? That sounds very much like a date. Howard's palms feel sweaty on the sleeve of the jacket and he carefully hangs it back on the hat stand where he found it so he doesn't leave handprints. "I would like that very much indeed, shall we say next Tuesday?" "Seriously, Howard, I've got to go." But why would she be lingering and saying she had to go instead of just going if she didn't find him intriguingly attractive? Today is turning out to be a roaring success after all. "Then please allow me to escort you home," he says, formally on purpose so he doesn't scare her away with his aggressive manliness or sound like the sort of sexual predator who would pester a young woman when she's just trying to run a simple errand. "This is no place for an innocent young lady to be walking on her own when it's getting dark, especially one as, I hope you don't mind me saying, charmingly beautiful as you." Eight looks out the cluttered shop window into the bright afternoon sunlight. After what feels like forever she turns back and almost gives Howard a heart attack. "Yeah. Alright, then."

"...Yes?" he repeats stupidly, and Eight grins like a wicked little pixie. "Yeah. Why not." "Oh. Well. Alright then. Let's go, shall we?" That hussy upstairs is shrieking Vince's name. So is Vince, the vain little tart. Howard doesn't even leave a note. If they ever satisfy themselves and come downstairs for a cup of tea, they're just going to have to worry themselves sick about where Howard's disappeared to in the middle of a working day. He flips the door sign to closed and follows Eight out into the grimy street. He's trying to work out whether he should put a safe guiding gentlemanly hand on the small of her back when she glances up at him sideways and says, "So... you're a virgin, then?" * "Not any more," Howard's gasping half an hour later. Eight looks at him with raised eyebrows. "What?" "Not a virgin any more." "Howard, mate. You're fingering me, you're not having sex." It happened all at once, it seemed, time-lapse flashes like a nature documentary about the sprouting of a seed: one moment they were walking through Dalston, the next he was accepting the offer of a cup of tea, the next she was lying back on the couch with her legs over his and her dress hitched up around her waist, pushing her black cotton knickers aside and holding his hand at the wrist to direct him where to touch. His head is a blur, he feels slightly sick – not because it's not nice, because it is, but because he always thought men were supposed to be the ones desperate for sex on a first date and the women were bashful modest flowers. Eight's got her hand over his, pressing on top of his fingernail and moving in little circles over the wet, warm flesh between her legs. He can't see what he's doing, her pants and their hands are on the way, but that's probably a good thing because he's tenting up the front of his trousers already and he is so not ready for this to be over yet. "Do it like that," she says, a little bit flushed, a little bit breathless. "Right there. Good. A bit faster... good. Oh." Is this what's supposed to happen? Don't things go inside when you're having sex? Is she – oh god – another freakish anomaly like Old Gregg? Actually, it's hard to care any more. So what if she is? She's still pretty, and she's willing to let him touch her when the whole world seems to be against the idea of him having any sort of nice time at all. She's perfect. "Take my pants off," she says. Howard scrabbles to obey as quickly as possible, pulling them down her legs and stretching the leg holes over her boots. It's like a new world underneath, dark curling little hairs and wet pink flesh. It's horrific. She's got to be a freak, there's no way Vince would get so excited about something that's so vile to look at. But it's too late to stop now, the hand around his wrist is directing him lower down and pressing until his first finger slips inside her. He makes a ridiculous unmanly sort of noise in his throat, shame and desire all tangled together,and Eight bends one leg up to rest on top of the cushion behind Howard's head, spreading her monstrosity wider. He takes the initiative and slides another finger in beside the first, so she blinks and looks at him in surprise then flashes a filthy curling little smile and sighs quietly, like a happy moan. "Nice. How big's your dick?" "Excuse me?" Howard splutters, blushing furiously. "Just asking. Because I can take another finger if you want, but if your dick's smaller than three fingers I'll be upset so maybe you shouldn't." "Let me assure you, madam, my-" He can't make himself say it. "-my equipment is perfectly adequate for the job at hand, so to speak."

"Alright then, let's have it." She pushes his hand away suddenly and stands up, leaving the room without looking back like she just expects him to follow her. He gets hit in the face with something as he's going through the bedroom door; it's her dress, she just pulled it off over her head and now she's reaching behind herself to unhook her bra and sitting down to unzip her boots. She gives him that look again when she's on the bed, naked on her back with one knee up and her foot flat on the mattress. She's doing to herself what he was just doing, gently stroking between her legs with her fingertips, biting her painted lower lip and catching her breath in her throat. Howard feels horrendously out of place. Future wife or not, something about this feels very strange and wrong indeed. Her displaying herself like a common tramp and caressing her abnormality like it's a beloved pet while Howard stands there mutely, fully-clothed including a straw hat and holding her crumpled dress. "Let me help you out," she says, still circling gently with her first two fingertips and smirking. "The next step is, you take off your clothes. Time-lapse again. It seems to take a nanosecond, then he's standing there with his hands protecting his modesty. It's a good thing he's got big hands, he thinks proudly, then that terror stabs back in his guts and he freezes like he's on stage. "Come here," Eight says, gradually breaking through with her calm voice and cool instructions. "Move your hands away, let me see you. Come and get on the bed. It's okay to touch me. Shall I show you what you do?" He just nods, moving as directed but still completely unable to think up the right words to say to somebody who's got her hand wrapped around his bits and pieces – his bits and pieces, he thinks crazily, she's touching his balls, why would anybody do that? But it feels good, he can't deny that, it's sending white-hot floods of goosebumps rushing over his skin and even if he's got no words he can still make noises, strange pathetic little whimpers and trembling pleas for things he doesn't know the details of. Eight pushes him back so he's lying against the pillow, pointing up like Excalibur, but she stops stroking him so she can straddle his legs and roll a condom on, and knee-walks a few steps up the mattress, holding him steady there so she can sink down around him. It's hot and tight and completely overwhelming. Howard's vision blurs and he feels like he's going to faint but then Eight grabs his nipple and pinches hard, dragging him back. He stares at her, feeling vaguely abused, but she just smiles sweetly and holds his hands to bring them to her hips. "Now you're having sex." "And... this is normal, is it?" he mumbles, hypnotised by the sight of his thingy disappearing up her when she raises and lowers her body above his. It makes her laugh, shaking her dyed red fringe out of her eyes and tipping her head back like she's reading something interesting on the ceiling. "The man's normally a bit more involved, but yeah, close enough." "I can get involved," Howard says desperately, "I can, let me show you-" His words turn into a choking sort of moan when she moves again. It's so obvious now how it's meant to be, he can do this, it's simple, it's the most natural thing in the world... Eight lets him turn them over so she's the one on her back, and Howard slips almost all the way out of her and drives back in hard. She moans just like Vince's floozy moaned, and like it's some kind of trigger: Howard shivers all over and comes, thrusting frantically into her and whimpering.

It's quiet after. He can't move, he stays there on top of her, stroking his fingers through her hair and feeling a slow lazy smile spread across his face. Nothing matters any more, not the teasing pitying looks at the party, not Vince's complete lack of shame and self-control and regard for other people's feelings, nothing – Howard's got a girlfriend, and life is wonderful. "Um," she says after a while. "Yes, my darling?" Howard murmurs, loving how much he sounds like Clark Gable or one of those other smooth manly charmers from old romance films. "Get off me, yeah?" "Oh. Sorry." He rolls onto his back hastily. It's no wonder she can't bear to be touched after such a mindblowing experience, she's probably feeling vulnerable, she's probably struggling to come to terms with the reality of it. "Is there anything you need, darling, can I do anything for you?" "Yeah, just pull the front door shut behind you on the way out, it should lock on its own." What? "...what?" "And tell your darling mate Vince if he's really sick and sad enough to keep my knickers even when he's shagging other girls then I'll stop hassling him to get them back, and let him know in as much detail as you want that I'm not waiting round for him either." "Oh." It's not so much a flash of realisation as a falling anvil. "This was... revenge?" The imaginary honeysuckle house burns down to rubble before his eyes and Eight just laughs, carefree and oblivious like Vince, like everyone else. Howard slowly starts to get dressed and decides to set up a permanent home in the airing cupboard, where it's safe and dark.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #howard moon #vince noir #howard moon/OFC

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pirates-yeah · 5 years

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in my dream, I suddenly find myself watching the end of a novel - an old book from the 1970s, where I know that the story ends in death, in the terrible death of a boy and his mother. it’s happening right in front of me, in our lane, and I’m so shocked I can’t do anything to stop it; immediately afterwards, a man in Joker red brings his group of schoolchildren through our gate into our garden and sweeps me along with him, and I’m just trying to get home, and he laughs at me and says, not forgetting anything, are we?

and inside the gate I stop dead and I call out for the boy who lives in the garden and receive only silence. no. I say it once, quietly, and then I call out for him again. (I thought as I typed this that I’d say I couldn’t now remember what his name was - and then I did remember. my subconscious wasn’t bothering to hide anything. oh, how awful, to have spent the whole night screaming that.)

anyway, he doesn’t answer. I shout his name, but I can feel it already, the deadness; the absence of a thing alive, the void where a thing never was. no, no, no, no, no, I’m howling it, I’m howling his name, my hands are in the dirt, my face in ruins. my boy from the garden, who I’ve known all my life. in whom my parents have never believed, but that didn’t matter because he was there, always real, always by my side. in the reality I’m in now, he never existed.

I try anyway. I beg my parents to for once believe me and for once tell me whether they’ve seen any sign of him; whether anything looks different to them, here. my mother is a Burton caricature of herself, a grand lady in a grand dress who does not want to be touched or talked to, and then I know they’re different, too, though they still know I’ve spent thirty years in love with an invisible boy in the garden - they just, in this universe, were right when they said he didn’t exist and that I was mad.

I try everything. I retrace my steps. I walk around the garden anticlockwise, the kind of magic you do aged six, that’s how I met him. my father watches me and laughs, and then - worse things. it’s horrible. I don’t want to write down the way he speaks to me in this dream, in this reality, where he’s gleefully proud of all the things he hides in the waking world. it’s like living with a - clown. he makes noises, recreates the sounds of women and children, it’s - a beautiful boy in a garden couldn’t live alongside that, and I know it. I know it’s hopeless.

every morning I cry myself awake and I run downstairs and I try something else. I ask the birds. I put on my mother’s shoes and try to catch reality unawares. I think about the man in Joker red who disappeared crossing our threshold and wonder what he did, what I did to deserve it. I howl the boy’s name and paint myself in black dirt, red dirt, thinking of how you find lost boys. nothing happens.

one day we have a visit from my old English teacher, who has been dead for many years - but in this reality, perhaps not, although perhaps she has. she comes for tea, anyway, and my horrible parents finally leave me alone with her. she brings a book out of her handbag and hands it to me, looking very serious. it’s the 1970s book, the one ending in death. she tells me, I had a letter from a woman in Holland who said I had to bring you this; she says she’s a descendant of the family in the book, and she spoke to a woman who said you’re the only person who can change its ending. does that mean anything to you?

it does, of course, and in the dream I go along with it with fewer questions than one might - especially since she seems so already convinced. I say, so I’ll get another chance? it’s the first hope I’ve had at all. she nods, and I hold the book in my hands, feel the worn cover, a talisman of a family marked by something dreadful. I explain to her what happened - she always was ready to believe in something above and beyond, so she doesn’t question me, just says, oh, how sad. I hope you find him.

and I wait. I go out into the lane in weather that sounds like the weather in the book, and wait. nothing happens for days except that I make my father more angry, more likely to say something terrible. I whisper the boy’s name in the garden; I am beginning to forget what he looks like and it devastates my heart.

but it works, eventually. one evening I go out into the lane and there is the barn, hovering in the air, an impossible thing, and the woman and child who are going to die but don’t know it yet. I hurl myself towards it; I scream the kid’s name, tell them, run! run, they’re coming! they do run. I watch them get away; in the lane behind me, an old man in Joker red gives an angry, amused sigh and melts into his former form; he looks like Denny. trust you, he says, not without appreciation, to fuck it all up for me. I tell him I was just trying to save the boy, and I swallow hard and cry and I beg him, please, if you did this to me, please send me back to the place with the boy in the garden. I don’t want to ask him for anything, but -

when I come to, it’s in a different reality altogether, and I’m telling the story to - someone, someone’s kids, and holding the copy of the book I was given. inside it is a carefully-written letter, long-preserved, from the woman in the book, and another, more recent one from her great-niece. the first letter reads not to be read before my death and details for said great-niece how an impossible stranger once saved her and her son from being killed, and that the whole story sounds mad so she never told anyone, but now she’s dead it doesn’t matter and she wanted her family to know what almost happened. the second letter is to me, from the great-niece, thanking me; she found me somehow, the same way she’d found a copy of the book with the original ending, even though in this world all the copies end another, happier way.

and I don’t care. all I care about is where the boy in the garden is. I fling everything away from me and run. he has to be there; it would be too cruel to reward me for saving a life - two lives - by further ruining my own.

but I don’t know whether he was there, because when I got to the garden gate, I woke up. I hate waking up from a dream where I howled all night for a person who never existed here; I feel so wretched, bereaved, cheated. I just wanted to see him again.

#his name was Rex obviously because my subconscious is not very subtle #thanks I hate it

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winchest09 · 6 years

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Unwritten

Title: Unwritten

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC Eileen (AU)

Word Count: 9126 (Not even sorry ha)

Summary: Eileen was an aspiring author who had lost all hope in herself and her writing...so what happens when a certain green eyed Winchester comes along and turns her world upside down?

Warnings: Like two swear words, fluff. FLUFFFFF. Fluff. Bit of angst, mention of character not caring about herself, but thats basically it!

A/N: Ok this is my first ever oneshot and I’ve wrote it in dedication to the gorgeous @squirrel-moose-winchester She’s been feeling a little low lately and she’s been the first amazing person on here to take the time to talk to me, encourage me and without her, Shatter Me wouldn’t have been posted! So when I noticed she was feeling a little low, I told her I was writing her a one shot to cheer her up and I can only hope you like it my lovely <3

Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :) I’ll give you a virtual hug if you did <3 Main Masterlist

Let me know what you think!

The late afternoon sun streamed the through the slightly dusted windows of the apartment. The rays of sun streaking across the floorboards as a faint tapping was echoing throughout the space. Sat at a mahogany desk, a young woman with long black hair sat. Her legs crossed, eyes shut tight, her head in her palm and a pen tapping in her other hand. Opening her eyes, Eileen stared down at the empty word document on her laptop in front of her. No words littered the page, just the odd sentence of dialogue here or there. She grumbled in frustration, throwing her pen and slamming her laptop lid down before her delicate hands brushed through her long dark hair, bringing it over one shoulder.

On a normal day, Eileen worked at the local coffee shop in town, a quaint little place titled ‘Coffee n Crumbs’. Yet when she was free from the constraints of work, Eileen was an aspiring author, working till the early hours of a morning on a book she was hoping to send over to some publishers very soon. However, writers block had struck. She’d lost all confidence in her story and she had no idea which way to lead with it next. Eileen had sent off two ideas previously to publishers, only to hear nothing back from them. She was hoping third time would be the charm yet here she was, with a creative wall higher and longer than the wall of China.

Getting up, she stretched and padded her way across her wooden floorboards to the bathroom, intent on taking an incredibly long bath whilst listening to the soft rock of Bon Jovi “Maybe his songs will give me inspiration” she thought, whilst quietly humming ‘Bed of Roses’. Yes, her latest fiction was a romance but inspiration was at a minimum. Eileen was single, her last relationship being well over a year ago and chivalry was practically dead with each boyfriend she’d had. Looking at the clock, she knew she didn’t have to be at work for another two hours so she knew she could take her time. So, an incredibly long bubble bath it was, soothing her aching muscles and trying hard to recharge her creative mind before it was going to be mindlessly numbed by her employer.

Once she was dry, she pulled on a pair of dark jeans with rips in just over the knee to go along with the dark blouse she had to wear with her works logo on. Wrapping her hair around a chopstick into a bun, she dusted her face with a little bit of make up before grabbing her notepad and pen. She placed it in her handbag and let her and linger on it slightly. Sometimes she thought she was crazy taking it wherever she went but sometimes, inspiration can hit in the weirdest of places. She had an idea for her first fiction when she was in line at a mall and the idea for her second was when she was when she was in the middle of a yoga class. She will never forget the looks on people’s faces when she gave up doing the downward dog to scribble down key notes. Smiling slightly, she zipped up her bag and headed out of her front door ready for another busy shift at Coffee n Crumbs.

Rushing through the front door of the business, the little bell above the door announced her entry. The blonde behind the counter turned towards her and smiled. Kind hearted Donna. Donna was Eileen’s best friend and confidant at work. She knew all about Eileen’s creative struggles, ambitions, relationships and more. She was a bubbling ball of joy on Eileen’s rainy days and she had never appreciated a friend more. Donna was the assistant manager at the shop and she was a dab hand at making all different kinds of pies, cakes and pastries. She’d taught Eileen all she knew about baking.

Stripping herself of her coat and bag, Eileen took her notepad out of her bag and tucked it down the side of the till before placing an apron over her front. Donna took note of her notepad as she dusted the flour off her hands down her apron, fresh from her pie making “You still suffering with that creators block sugar?”

“You better believe it” Eileen sighed “Do you need any help?”

Donna smiled sympathetically “Sure honey, these pies are fresh out the oven. Just need dusting with some icing sugar”

Eileen nodded, a few dark strands of hair freeing themselves from her bun as she did so. Grabbing the sieve and icing sugar from the side, she starting gently patting the utensil against her hand, laying the pies delicately with a delicious sugary layer “Donna, is there honestly any point in me doing this for a third time?” She asked her friend, hoping for an honest answer.

Donna slapped her dough down on the freshly floured surface “Are you kidding? Leen, you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open” She stated like a matter of fact “and that’s a good thing” using her finger to point towards Eileen.

Before Eileen could respond, a deep British accent filled the back room “Ladies, I pay you to work, not to stand around and chat”

Donna rolled her eyes as she carried on kneading her dough “Women can multitask Crowley and well, we’re just talkin’ bout Leen here’s new book. As we’re workin’.” Donna emphasised, knowing the boss of the business too well, knowing he would look for any loophole he could.

Eileen just took a deep breath and tried to hide the smile that was trying to break free across her lips. Donna always had the balls to stand up to the demon of a boss that was Crowley and it always made her smile.

“Eileen, piece of advice” Crowley barked, his tone sharp and impatient “If it’s not happened by now, it’s not ever gonna happen so please do your job and get out there and serve my customers!” He almost shouted, his voice gravelly and to the point before he made his way to his office, just off the side of the kitchen.

Eileen just nodded as she placed down her sieve, ready to go out to be the front of house but was stopped by a gentle hand.

“Oh don’t listen to him, he’s just an old grump” Donna comforted, waving Crowley off like he was a fly to be swatted “He has no idea what he’s talking about”

“I know that I will fire one of you if you don’t do your jobs!” Crowley shouted through his door, clearly listening in to what Donna had said. She patted your shoulder before getting back to her pastries, letting you take charge at the front.

Flustered, Eileen wiped her hands down her apron and carried out the few pies that were ready to be ordered and eaten by customers. As she got to the shop front, she expected a mile long queue with how Crowley was talking, however there was only one customer waiting who was casually glancing around the room.

Placing the freshly made pies in the counter, Eileen took a deep breath and painted on a smile, looking up to greet the customer “Sorry to keep you waiting, just needed to get these freshly made pies from the oven. What can I get you?”

At the sound of Eileen’s voice, the customer turned and took off his dark ray ban sunglasses. He came forward and placed one hand on the counter, casually tapping his fingers “I’ll take a coffee and a slice of pie to go, thanks”

One look at him and Eileen’s mouth became dry. The gentlemen in front of her was a 6ft god, she was sure of it. Brown hair, bow legs and striking green eyes. “S-sure” She stuttered as she bustled around to make him his coffee. Eileen shook her head discreetly as she shifted the weight of her frame from one foot to the other. She couldn’t help but to keep stealing glances at this handsome stranger over her shoulder, if she was looking for inspiration for a new male protagonist for any story, he was it. Strong jawline, broad shoulders and lips that looked delectable. The handsome green eyed stranger however had clocked on to Eileen’s small glances and the corner of his lip turned upward into a smile.

Eileen gently covered his coffee with the take out lid before sliding it over the counter towards him “What flavour pie would you like?” She asked softly.

Leaning forward on the counter, he looked up into Eileen’s dark eyes, determined to make her blush “Well what would you recommend?”

Eileen cleared her throat, discreetly wiping the sweat off her palms onto her apron hidden by the counter “Well all of our pies are handmade here by either myself or Donna so if I’m being biased, I’d recommend all of them. They’re all pretty good” She honestly answered.

The stranger nodded, leaning to one side on his arm as he scoured the counter to the left of him “Ok then which one did you make”

“The pecan” Eileen smiled softly

The customer looked at the pecan pie that sat in the stands and nodded in approval “I’ll take half”

Eileen scoffed, the shock on her face evident “Are you serious?”

“I love pie” He said nonchalantly “and I want to see if you’re pie is as good as you say it is” He winked as he watched Eileen’s cheek burn red and he chuckled softly to himself.

Eileen grabbed one of thee to go pie boxes and proceeded to cut the handsome customer half of the pecan pie as ordered. Once his order was complete, Eileen told him the total and he handed over a bundle of notes, letting his hand brush with hers softly before leaving the store with a soft wave. As Eileen stood there with his money in her hand, Donna appeared at the side of her “What a dish” she muttered as they both watched the mysterious stranger cross the street, his tight behind in perfect view “Lord save me, my lower lips are trembling” Donna announced, no shame in her outburst.

“DONNA!” Eileen scolded playfully, striking her arm with the money the stranger had paid with, a laugh escaping her lips. Donna just winked and retreated back into the kitchen as Eileen went to put the money into the till, noticing that the handsome stranger had left her a sizeable tip to which she smiled. Today wasn’t going to be that bad.

The afternoon past steadily, customers coming and going but as time went on, the quieter it got. Eileen was leaning on the front desk, her notepad underneath her as she brainstormed plot points and directions for the next chapter of her book. Donna was on her last break and Eileen was due to go home when she came back so she was looking forward to sitting with a tub of ice cream in front of Netflix and losing herself into some sort of series. However those hopes were shattered when Crowley made an appearance.

“Eileen!” He snapped, causing the dark haired beauty to stand straight “Eileen, I’m going to need you to close up for me tonight”

Eileen frowned “But Sir, I’m due to finish in fifteen minutes, I have plans” Plans were an exaggeration but they were her plans nonetheless.

Crowley growled lowly, turning to face his member of staff and trying to summon some sliver of patience “I’m the boss darling. I say when you go home. In this case, I have a deal that I need to ensure goes through which means if you want to keep your job, you’ll close the shop for me” He bellowed, his voice slowly getting louder with each word he said “Understood?”

Eileen just nodded “Perfectly”

“Good” Crowley sighed “Make sure this place is squeaky clean for tomorrow, seems you’ve got nothing better to do” The demon of a man made his way to the exit “Oh and don’t let me catch you with your notepad scribbling down your feelings or fantasy worlds. I pay you to work, remember that Eileen” and with that, he slammed the shop door.

Eileen’s lips trembled as she fought to stop the tears from falling. Sure she didn’t have any major plans tonight but it was still her life and to tell her she had to stay for another 3 hours, on her own made her blood boil. For one, it was against health and safety but of course, Crowley didn’t care about that. He only cared about his profits.

Donna came back from her break and Eileen told her what had been said and in true Donna fashion, she managed to cheer up Eileen no end while she was there. They stole pie for themselves and hid in the cameras blind spots so Crowley wouldn’t see when he checked the camera the next day. However, it was soon time for Donna to go home and even though they had done most of the cleaning between them, there was still a bit to do.

The night was quiet, only two customers had come in during the hour and a half that Eileen had been on her own. She had mopped the floors, cleaned the coffee machine and was in the process of cleaning the counters when an idea popped into her head. Taking the pen from the side, she slid her notepad in front of her and started to write down her thoughts but soon enough she came to a block and became increasingly frustrated. Crowley’s words echoing in her mind as she stared at the paper and it all got too much. So, in anger, she picked up her notepad and threw it across the counter towards the display of pastries that were to be thrown later that day.

“Are you ok?”

“Oh my-” Eileen shrieks, her heart racing as she slips on some cream that had spilled on the floor in the panic.

“Oh god, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you” The deep voice apologised Eileen shook her head.

“It’s fine. It’s my own fault” She muttered, looking up to be greeted with the green eyes of the delectable stranger from earlier that day, leaning over the counter at her. A wave of embarrassment hits her as she realises what just happened. She felt like she was never going to catch a break. Dusting herself off, she pulled herself up and put on an unconvincing smile “What can I get you, we’ve not got much left”

The customer leant back on the counter, smiling adoringly up at Eileen, charm oozing from him “Well I had this slice of amazing pecan pie earlier and I wondered if you had any more left?”

Eileen scoffed in disbelief “You liked my pecan pie?”

“You bet. Best damn pie I’ve ever tasted. So naturally, I had to come back for more” The customer sounded honest, his smile making his cheeks ache.

Eileen studied him, looking around for any signs of being set up but when the customer appeared to be on his own, she eased up a bit “Well, we have nearly a whole other pecan pie left-”

“I’ll take it all” The customer interrupted before Eileen had a chance to offer anything else. The dark haired woman just stared at the customer as if he had grown two heads to which the customer laughed “Hey, I’ll need some for my lunch tomorrow too”

Eileen chuckled as she got another take out pie box ready “You’re insane”

“Insanely good at eating pie” He responded to which Eileen chuckled loudly, placing the pie into the box. Just who was this pie man? He eyes seemed to ask him that question as she slid the box of pie over to him.

“Dean. Dean Winchester” He stated, holding his hand out to shake.

Tucking a loose bit of hair behind her ear, Eileen took Dean’s hand “Eileen” She greeted.

Dean smiled as he handed over the money for his order, watching the woman in front of him intently. He was curious, curious about her. When he came into the store earlier that day, he was surprised to see someone so striking behind the counter, it knocked the wind out of his sails. The normal confident Dean Winchester lost all his mojo as soon as he saw her and turned into a bashful teenage boy. So, after giving himself a good talking too when eating the delicious pie, he worked up the courage to come back this evening to ask her for her number.

Naturally however, when he saw Eileen’s outburst of frustration, he grew concerned “So, Eileen, if you don’t mind me asking” Dean started as he flipped open the pie box, ogling the contents “What’s got you throwing notepads at innocent pastries?”

A new wave of embarrassment flood through Eileen as she tried to look anywhere but at Dean “It doesn’t matter” She muttered

Dean frowned as he grabbed a fork from the cutlery holder on the side “Clearly does if it’s upset you so much”

Eileen takes a moment to ponder. Yes, she had let Crowley’s words affect her. Being here till close had pissed her off and the fact she couldn’t get over this damn writers block hurdle was killing her but why would a sexy stranger, in this case Dean Winchester, want to know all of her woes?

Taking a cloth, she began to work on the surfaces she had left to clean “Honestly, Dean. There’s no point in talking about it because nothings ever going to come of it anyway”

Cocking his head, he replied “...and how do you know that?”

She stopped what she was doing and stared incredulously at Dean “Who are you? Dr Phil?” Eileen snapped.

“More like Dr Sexy” Dean smirked, pulling his pie covered fork clean through his lips.

Eileen’s face went blank, her mind trying to register the action and the reply he just gave, her stomach doing somersaults against her wishes “Did…did you actually just”

“Hey, it’s a legit TV show, one I might add that is a guilty pleasure of mine” Dean admitted like it was nothing as he carried on eating his pie from the box on the counter.

Eileen shook her head as she went back to wiping down the surfaces, moving on to wipe down the tables “You don’t even know me, yet you’re telling me you’re guilty pleasures?!”

Dean just shrugged “Isn’t that how you get to know someone?”

Eileen frowned in thought “I…well I wouldn’t start with telling you my guilty pleasures. Maybe like my favourite alcohol beverage or worst fear” She stated, like it was the right thing to do.

Dean took a second to think as he picked up his pie, a second fork and made his way over to where Eileen was cleaning “Probably whiskey and I hate flying”

She threw the wet cloth on the table, disbelief flooding through her “You’re insatiable”

“I’m adorable” Dean quipped, smiling a smile that made Eileen go weak in the knees. Dean placed his pie on the table in front of Eileen, gesturing to the empty seat on the opposite side as he sits down “Come on, talk to me, promise I won’t judge” He said sweetly as he offered Eileen the fresh fork.

Going against her better judgement, Eileen took the empty seat that Dean was gesturing too. She looked towards the clock and noticing that it was nearly time for her to clock off, helped her feel a bit more at ease about eating her own pie with someone she’d met twice in one day. However, there was something about Dean Winchester that made her feel comfortable, she opened up to him and found that he was incredibly easy to talk too. Maybe it was because he didn’t know her, or maybe it was because he would walk out that door with his pie and she may never see him again. Either way, talking to this handsome man, offloading her problems and indulging into this pie made her feel a whole lot better.

She explained all about her failed chances at trying to get published, how she suffers with writers block and lastly, how unappreciative and cruel her boss Crowley could be.

Dean wiped his mouth on a napkin, mopping up the few crumbs that had stuck to the corners of his lips “So this Crowley dude, does he know much about the publishing business?”

Eileen shook her head, spinning her fork around in the pie box “I…I don’t think so”

Dean nodded, screwing up his napkin “Does he write fiction in his spare time?”

“I honestly don’t think he has spare time. He puts his soul into this place” Eileen scowled as she looked around

Dean took a pause as he leant back on his chair “Then why does his opinion matter?”

Eileen let her fork fall into the box as she forced herself back in her seat, staring into Dean’s incredible green eyes “Because he’s right. I love writing, I do but I can never seem to get a story finished. I get so many chapters in and this block forms in my mind and I can never get past it. Whenever I’ve sent a preview to a publisher, I’m just ignored” She sighed, feeling defeated “There’s just no point”

Dean took both forks out of the pie box and placed them side by side, casually asking “Where do you do your writing?”

Eileen shrugged, playing with the hem of her apron “Either at home or here. What does that matter?”

“It matters” Dean nodded, an idea forming in his mind as he packed up the rest of his pie “You working tomorrow?”

Eileen shook her head, her face wearing her confusion “No it’s my day off”

Dean nodded as he stood up, smiling “Good. Meet me here, tomorrow, 12pm” He stated, excitement bubbling within him as he walked towards the exit of the shop, pie in hand “Oh and bring your notepad” He encouraged

“What? Why?” Eileen questioned quickly as she stood, trying to keep Dean in view.

Dean just smiled at her as he held onto the front door “Because Eileen, tomorrow will be the day where your story begins” With that, he left the shop and left Eileen feeling all bewildered, just wondering what the hell had just happened.

She couldn’t help the smile that seemed to be stuck on her face after Dean had left. There was something about the charming bow legged man that made her hope. He also made her weak at the knees but it wasn’t too hard to figure out why that was. That night, Eileen closed up shop with hope in her heart and a spring in her step. She was taking a chance on meeting Dean Winchester tomorrow and her heart skipped a beat when she thought of their date. Wait…was it date? She wasn’t sure and she stopped her stride as she thought. Either way, she was spending some time with an incredibly good looking man and she hadn’t had that in a long time.

The next day, as soon as Eileen woke up, she couldn’t help but text Donna and tell her everything that had happened. Naturally, Donna was jealous but she was quick to tell her to ensure she ready for action, just in case. Eileen just reiterated that no matter how long it had been, she wouldn’t be jumping into bed with the first handsome, green eyed man she saw. No matter how delectable his lips were.

That morning, it was a long battle to figure out what to wear but after half an hour and many outfit changes, Eileen settled with a yellow summer’s dress, a white belt tying around the middle with white flat tennis shoes. Simple but elegant and she felt comfortable. Her makeup was minimal and her hair was put into a fishtail braid, over her right shoulder. It wasn’t a lie when she said that she felt as nervous as hell meeting Dean, as well as a little sceptical of whether he would actually turn up but she strapped in her nerves, picked up her notepad and made her way to the meeting point, wondering just how the day was going to go.

As promised, just before 12pm, Eileen heard a soft rumble coming towards her and turned her head to see the most gorgeous sleek black car pull up to the sidewalk, with the most gorgeous green eyed man inside. Dean put the Impala in park and hopped out, excited to see that Eileen was waiting for him. She trusted him. He felt his mouth go dry when he let his eyes wander over her outfit, she looked positively beautiful.

“Hi” Dean smiled as he come round the front of his car “You ready?”

Eileen just nodded softly “Ready as ever for whatever you’ve got planned”

“Great, hop in. Just gotta grab something first” Dean stated as he walked quickly into your place of work. Intent on getting another pie.

Eileen just watched him from the passenger side window. She admired his form and what he was wearing. His dark blue jeans, the dark blue shirt and the mustard and blue flannel that he adorned on top just made him look even better than he had the night before, if that was possible. She looked away and smiled as she studied his car. There was no telling that it was a classic, and it was in a remarkable condition. She noticed the box of tapes and studied them also, admiring the man’s taste in music.

Before Eileen could look around anymore, the driver’s side door swung open and Dean entered, a fresh pie in his hands and Eileen just rolled her eyes playfully. She swore he had an addiction. With a nod and a smile from Dean, he fired up the impala’s engine and took off towards his destination. It wasn’t far out of town, to be honest, anyone could have actually walked to where Dean had parked the car although it would have obviously taken longer to get to the location. Eileen looked around and frowned slightly at their destination. Dean had pulled onto what could only be described as a gravel car park, with metal bars all around and the odd few trees here and there.

However, when they both got out of the car, Dean opened the trunk to grab a picnic basket and held his free hand out to Eileen “Trust me?” He questioned and Eileen took his hand, nodding slightly.

Dean led them off the gravel and down the side of a few random electric outlet buildings, Eileen having to watch her step a few times to ensure she didn’t trip on the uneven surface. She had to duck when Dean ducked, to avoid low hanging tree branches and match his steps to ensure she didn’t step in the wrong place. Soon enough, Dean whisked around and nearly made Eileen run into his chest.

“Wait here?” He asked, his eyes lighting up.

“Sure?” Eileen agreed, although questioning he motives.

Dean moved some branches out of his path before jogging off towards his destination, taking the picnic basket with him. Soon enough, he was coming back, moving the branches out the way again to greet Eileen with a wide grin.

“Ok, close your eyes” He said excitedly

“You’re not gonna murder me are you?” Eileen joked as she closed one eye, peaking at him through the other.

Dean laughed and shook his head “Not a chance”

Closing her eyes, she felt two strong hands encase her own as she was gently pulled forward. She felt the terrain beneath her feet change to something softer and the noise of the city seemed to have faded away. Dean didn’t have to walk her far before he asked her to sit, which she did and she placed her hands on the ground, feeling soft blades of grass between her fingers. With a nudge, Dean encouraged Eileen to open her eyes and when she grew accustomed to the light, she was in awe.

Dean had them sitting close to the river bed, leaning their backs against the trunk of a willow tree, the wilted branches encasing them in their own private world. The willow tree over looked the edge of a lake that conveyed into a river, it was tranquil and a place that Eileen fell in love with straight away “It’s beautiful” She whispered.

“Yeah” Dean breathed, sitting down next her.

Eileen was still struggling with how amazing this place was “How do you know of this place?” She questioned, looking towards Dean.

Dean smiled as he crossed his legs in front of him, he loved the way Eileen’s eyes had lit up “My mum used to bring me and my brother here when we were kids. Not many people know if it. It’s very secluded. I come down here to think sometimes” Dean stated as he leant to his left, pulling the picnic basket into view “Sandwich?”

“You brought a picnic?” Eileen chuckled, shaking her head slightly at the thoughtfulness of the man in front of her.

Dean just stared into Eileen’s dark brown orbs, unsure of why she was even asking that questions, the answer was obvious “Of course I brought a picnic” He stated as a matter of fact “Wouldn’t be a good date if I didn’t provide food”

“What?” Eileen whipped her head back around to look at Dean as he started to lay out the food in front of them on a blanket he had just put down. Date, this is a date? Internally she was screaming. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up but he had called it what it was.

“Leen, you don’t mind me calling you Leen do you?” Eileen just shook her head, biting at her bottom lip to stop the massive grin from breaking out. She watched as Dean started picking at a bag of pretzels that he had bought along as he went on with his thoughts “You’ve been writing in places that has caged your creativity. An apartment that, to you, is dull and your work place that provides a million and one distractions” He brushed his hands off of pretzel crumbs and looked deep into Eileen’s eyes and told her “Close your eyes and listen”

She did as instructed, the smile that she tried to hide now spreading across her lips “I can’t hear anything”

“That’s the point” Dean said quietly as she opened her eyes and bore straight into his. She noticed at this distance, the cluster of freckles that dusted over his nose and cheeks. The small specks of gold that mixed in with the mossy green of his orbs. Dean also noticed for the first time just how tanned her skin was, just how detailed her features were, how dark her eyes were. The air was charged around them and it took the gentle breeze of the wind knocking over the pretzel pack for Dean to snap away from her gaze.

Clearing his throat, he gestured towards the layout of the picnic “Take some food, a moment to yourself and just enjoy the peace” He smiled, taking his headphones out of a separate bag and looking towards her “See what flows”

“Dean” Eileen said softly, finding it hard to speak. Her stomach was in knots after the way he had just looked at her. The fact her had done all this for her, bringing her out to this personal private spot, making a picnic and just caring, meant the world to her.

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere” Dean stated, as he placed his headphones on his head “I’ll be here, just giving you the peace you require” He smiled, as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, enjoying his music and the feeling of the beautiful woman next to him.

It took a while for Eileen to move, she just couldn’t help but stare at this incredibly kind and sweet man next to her. Out of all the relationships she had been in before, not one of them had ever done something so special. So, she leant forward for a sandwich and ate quietly as she retrieved her notepad and pen from her bag. She looked around her and took every little detail in about this place, she listed to the tiniest of sounds and the flow of water and she was surprised at how relaxed she felt.

Before long, words were flowing through her, ideas were appearing in her mind one after the other and Eileen had never felt so excited. What she didn’t realise was that every now and again, Dean would open one eye just to check on her to make sure she was ok and he loved the sight of her next to him. He would smile to himself, shuffle slightly to get comfy again before going back to his music.

“I did it!” Eileen exclaimed suddenly, holding her pad in both hands as she shot up. Her feet bare upon the grass as she had taken off her shoes earlier on in the afternoon.

Dean heard her exclaim of the music, that and he felt the movement next to him. He moved his headphones off his head “You got past your block?” He questioned, hopefully.

Eileen nodded, pulling her pad to her chest “All thanks to you” She breathed honestly, admiration shining in her eyes at Dean.

Dean smiled but just shrugged as he got up “I didn’t do anything”

Eileen stepped closer to Dean, wanting to hug him but not wanting to overstep any boundaries “You did more thank you think” She said softly, looking towards the floor.

Dean noticed and gently placed his fingers under her chin “I know what it’s like to feel like you should give up on your dreams” He said, carefully tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear, which only made Eileen blush hard when his hand lingered there “Luckily I have a little brother who talked sense into me and here I am, years later with my own garage”

When Dean’s hand dropped back to his side, Eileen questioned “You’re a mechanic?”

“I am” Dean smiled, looking a bit bashful as he placed his hands in his pockets, kicking at the first on the floor “Looking at opening my second garage soon”

“That’s amazing” Eileen gushed, genuinely impressed at the businessman in front of her.

A sense of peace fell over the pair as they looked out towards the river. Eileen took a moment to think about how in the space of twenty four hours, her life had drastically changed for the better, all thanks to this one man. She was ready to give up on her dreams until Dean Winchester walked into her life.

Looking to the side of her, she smiled and asked quietly “How’d do you do it?”

“Do what? Open a garage?” Dean chuckled, side eyeing Eileen.

“No silly” She batted him playfully on the arm “How do you stay so positive?”

Dean smiled, the truth was he hadn’t always been so positive but things had happened in his life that had made him change his outlook and now he lives for the day. Tomorrow technically doesn’t exist yet, a thought he always had and he was always grateful for the day he had.

Dean turned towards Eileen, hands still in his pockets “You have to live your life with your arms wide open. Every day is an opportunity, grab it with both hands” He states, getting his hands free and making the grabbing gesture.

Eileen just nodded and held her stare with Dean, the tension between them palpable. Dean looked just behind her and noticed how the weather had quickly changed. “Come on, storm clouds are rolling in, let’s get you home”

With that, Eileen nodded and helped Dean pack the picnic away. He held out his free hand to her once again as he guided her back to his impala. They made the walk back to the car in a comfortable silence but Eileen couldn’t help but notice the feeling of Dean’s hand in hers. It was like her skin was burning from his touch. She couldn’t quell the feeling in her chest at the thought of him. Just where had he come from? She couldn’t believe her luck.

Being the gentlemen, Dean drove Eileen all the way back to her apartment building as the rain had started to come down heavily. Eileen was still on cloud nine, she had a whole new chapter to write up and some amazing new plot points to jot down to work with and she couldn’t thank Dean enough.

“Thank you Dean, today has been amazing” Eileen gushed, holding her handbag tight in her arms.

Dean turned towards Eileen as he rested his free arm on the back of the bench seat of the car “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it, Leen. See you tomorrow? A man needs his pie” He joked.

Eileen laughed and nodded “See you tomorrow”

She didn’t even think when she leant forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek as a thank you. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat and he swore his heart stopped for a second.

“Hey, do you think I could get your number? You know, in case of a pie emergency?” He rushed out

Eileen just grabbed his phone and entered her number before sending a text to herself. Her cheeks were burning with her previous actions and she just wanted to bury her head into a pillow and squeal with excitement. She waved a soft goodbye as she entered her apartment complex and rested her head against the wood of her door. Did that day really just happen?

Eileen raced around her apartment, flinging off her shoes and heading towards her laptop. She was eager to get this chapter typed up before the fresh creative juices left her. She was scared it would go away as quickly as it came but when she had a whole two chapters written three hours later, she let out a shriek of excitement and did her own little victory dance through her study. With this new found confidence, all thanks to Dean, she opened her emails and dared to send a new preview to a few publishers, hoping this time, her luck will be different.

As soon as she sent the email, she opened up her phone to text the man that was responsible for it all.

9.07PM To: Dean Hey you. Just so you know, I’ve sent off a preview of my new fiction to a few publishers. All because of you. I can’t thank you enough. I may have to make you a few hundred pies. E xx

Soon enough, a reply popped up in her inbox and she couldn’t help but grin widely at seeing his name on her phones screen.

9.09PM From: Dean

That’s amazing news! I’ll keep everything crossed for you and hey, won’t say no to those pies. One a day over the next few hundred days? Sounds like a winner ;) D xx

That night, Eileen went to bed feeling positive and so very happy and the feeling continued when she got into work the next morning, something that Donna definitely picked up on. Eileen had a spring in her step as she hung up her bag and a massive smile on her face.

“Look at the grin on you, what’s got you all smiley?” Donna encouraged, gently nudging her friend and colleague to gather more information.

“May have gone on a date yesterday?” Eileen said all coyly as she danced around the bakery.

“DATE? With who?” Donna may as well have screamed her response.

Eileen leant against the counter Donna was currently working on, mixing some flour between her fingers “Dean Winchester, the man who brought a pie from me two days ago”

“Lips trembling guy?!” Donna exclaimed, her mouth almost touching the floor.

“Don-” Eileen was just about to playfully tell off her friend when she was rudely interrupted.

“EILEEN! My office, now!” Crowley bellowed, his British tone ringing through the kitchen to which both of the girls winced.

Eileen had to admit that her stomach flipped over when she entered Crowley’s office, it felt seedy and cheap. Black velvet seats with red lining. It made her feel ill. Nevertheless, Eileen hugged her body as she sat down in front of her boss’s desk “Everything ok?” She questioned

“No Eileen, everything is NOT ok” Crowley snapped before he turned the monitor of computer around to face her “Take a look at this” Eileen was stared at the monitor screen where CCTV of two nights ago was being played, the night Dean found her beating up pastries with her notebook. She felt the colour drain out of her skin at what was to come.

Crowley turned the monitor back to face him before proceeding to scold his employee “Firstly, you vandalise my shop by having a tantrum, then you decide on works time to sit down and eat stock with a customer?” He scoffed, the volume of his voice getting louder.

Eileen was quick to defend herself “He paid for it and I didn’t vandalise you store, I admit I shouldn’t have lost my temper but I tided up after myself. He insisted that I sit down with him, I thought it was good customer service” She admitted honestly, her hands in front of her now on her lap.

Crowley held up his hand, as if to stop Eileen’s explanation “You know what, I’m through explaining myself to you. I’m through explaining things to my superiors because of you. I caught you fraternising with a customer and you think its ok. I’m sorry Eileen but you’re fired”

“What, you can’t” Eileen panicked, her hands now on his desk, pleading with him.

“I can. Get you coat, your wages will be in the bank by Friday” Crowley stated with no emotion at all.

“Fuck you!” Eileen shouted in anger as she stormed out of his office, grabbing her bag and running from the store. Not stopping for Donna’s calls, not stopping for traffic, not stopping for anything as she ran as fast as her legs could take her. She had no idea where to go, she didn’t want to go home so she went to the only other place she knew which would make her calm.

Back at the shop, Donna was in a spin. She can’t believe that Crowley had just fired the only other employee that they had and she ensured that she gave him a piece of her mind. Something that Crowley just shrugged off. Donna had never been so angry, as she slung the dough around the kitchen in between serving customers. She had just managed to get five minutes to herself when she heard the doorbell go, alerting her of a new customer.

With a sigh, she placed down her drink and shouted through from the kitchen “I’ll be with ya in two seconds” Donna bustled about, flinging some more pies into the over before showing her flour covered face to the new customer in her store. As she came around the counter, she certainly recognised the broad bow legged beauty in front of her “Oh Dean right?” She acknowledged

“Yeah…wait…how did you?” Dean agreed in confusion.

Donna just waved him off with her impatience “Eileen. Listen sugar, she’s not here. She ran out of this store, ridiculously upset. You need to find her” She stated bluntly as she pointed out of the store.

Without even answering Donna, Dean ran out of that shop as quickly as he could, intent on finding Eileen. He was worried, he didn’t like the idea of her being upset and the thought of her being upset and on her own, made his heart break. Racing to his car, he pulled out his phone and tried to call Eileen but she wasn’t picking up so he threw his phone to the side of him in frustration. He wasted no time in getting to her apartment complex and searching for her name on the buzzers outside.

“Come on dammit” He growled as he kept pressing her buzzer, however there was no answer. He looked up and down the street as he tried to think of where she could have gone. He didn’t know her that well, they’d been on one date and he didn’t know much about her but that’s when it hit him. He moved quickly back to his car as he thought about where he took her just yesterday on their first date, he hoped she was there. He hoped she was safe.

Sitting close to the willow trunk, Eileen wiggled her toes into the grassy bank. It was late afternoon on a cloudy day, every now and then strong breezes came through the wilted branches of the willow. Her eyes were closed, enjoying the peaceful sounds of nature as she willed the tears away that were threatening to fall. She didn’t know what she was doing here, it’s just where her mind seemed to take her when she was running. She liked that no one knew about this place, or so Dean said, so no one would be able to find her and right now, Eileen just wanted to be alone. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them, leaning her face to one side as she finally stopped holding her sobs back.

Eileen didn’t know how long she had been there, sobbing and letting her tears fall but she soon fell silent when she heard footsteps behind her. Just as they got close enough, she found a heavy stone to the side of her and swung her stone wielding arm around in defence.

“Woah hey now” Dean immediately dodged and held his hands up in surrender. His eyes scanning Eileen’s tiny form, looking to see if she was hurt.

She quickly wiped her eyes with her free hand as she laid down her stone “What are you doing here?” Eileen questioned, shamefully looking away from Dean.

Dean proceeded to step forward to get closer to Eileen “I came to see you on my lunch like I promised, Donna said-”

“What? That I’ve been fired?!” Eileen snapped, interrupting his sentence as she bolted upright into standing.

Dean was shocked as she took in Eileen’s facial expression. She looked broken and defeated, the sparkle in her eyes had gone and it was killing him“…what? No she said that something had happened and you’d ran out the shop” His face said it all, he wanted to hold her and comfort her, so he took a step forward intending to do just that “Eileen, I’m so sorry”

But Eileen stepped back, one hand in front of her “Just…don’t. You don’t even know me” It was true, he had only known her for 48 hours but her mind was playing tricks on her. Telling her that she couldn’t possibly be happy, that she was living in a fairy tale.

“But I want too” Deans voice broke through her thoughts and Eileen snapped her eyes up from the ground to look into his.

“I have no idea why” She stated honestly as she started to curl into herself, one arm wrapping around her stomach. Dean went to say something but she stopped him before he even started “No, before you even start, I don’t want to hear it” She lied, her mind was saying things differently than what her heart was telling her “I don’t need to hear words of comfort because you don’t mean them. Why would you?” Eileen shouted.

Eileen’s question lingered in the air as she started to walk backwards away from Dean, towards the river. Fresh storm clouds overheard brought fresh onsets of heavy rain and as she turned to walk away from him, the heavens opened. Rods of rain hammered down upon her but she didn’t care, thankfully however, Dean did.

“Because believe it or not, I do care about you” He shouted as he followed her into the rain. Those few simple words making Eileen stop in her tracks “The other day I was just a mechanic who came into your coffee shop for some pie” Dean continued through the rain, pacing so he was now standing in front of her, looking into her red rimmed eyes, her dark hair stuck to her face “Now I’m a mechanic, with a name, standing in front of this gorgeous aspiring author, asking her to breathe” He said gently as he placed his hands either side of her face.

Eileen growled as she pulled his hands away from her face “I can’t breathe Dean, I’ve lost my job” She shouted as she started to pace around in front of him, her arms flailing “Which means I can’t pay my bills, I can’t pay my rent, I-” Eileen walked in front of Dean but as she was throwing her arms around in a panic, her green eyed knight came up behind her and pulled her back flush to his chest. He then held her hands in his as he stretched her arms out widely to the sides.

Winded by the sudden motion and contact, Eileen felt her heart racing in her chest “What are you doing?” She whispered, gently twisting her wrists in his grip.

“Close your eyes and concentrate” Dean whispered softly into her ear, his breath ghosting her neck and Eileen did as she was told. She was concentrating on everything around her. The way the rain sounded as it hit the floor and the river, the way the wind felt against her skin, the way Dean felt against her skin. Dean hadn’t moved, his lips were still dangerously close to her ear “Feel the rain on your skin?” He asked

Eileen merely nodded, not trust her voice to say more than one word “Yes” She couldn’t trust herself not to whimper against him.

“How does it feel?” He asked again, a soothing tone to his voice, his body still pressed against hers, the rain still coming down heavy upon the couple.

Eileen took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed and concentrated on how she felt “Cold, refreshing, relaxing”

Gently Dean let go of Eileen and took a step back, he saw how calm she had become as she gently lowered her arms before turning around and looking at him. He thanked his lucky stars that he found her and he couldn’t believe that she hadn’t felt the way his heart was racing as she was pulled tightly to his chest.

He gestured towards her “No one else can feel that for you Leen. You’re in control of you so every time you feel like you can’t breathe, take that moment and see what you can feel” He stepped forward, his thumb on her chin as his other hand wiped the soaking wet hair from her brow “Concentrate on the now” He whispered.

That’s all it took. That and a mutual glance at each other’s lips before they connected in a kiss that made them both breathless. Eileen brought her hands up to his shoulders, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as she tried to deepen the kiss. Dean merely smiling into her lips as he noticed she was on her tiptoes due to her 5ft1 stature.

Unwillingly pulling away, but having too due to her legs hurting from stretching, Eileen’s was sure her cheeks had never been so red. Dean just beamed ear to ear as he cupped her face in his large hands “Now that, that was very good concentration” He grinned and Eileen just slapped him playfully. Chuckling he, takes her hand in his and pulls her back towards the willow “Let’s get out of the rain”

Cuddling at the base of the willow tree, Dean shrugged off his jacket to place around Eileen’s shoulders all the while explaining to her that he’s like a radiator and hardly feels the cold. She’s grateful as she pulls it closer, the smell of the leather and Dean was intoxicating. Eileen may have lost her job, but she had gained something so much more precious in Dean and as she sat there, under the willow tree, wrapped in his arms, she realised that. She made sure that she kept stealing kisses from him when he wasn’t looking which made him smile. He had never been so happy.

The heavy rain started to turn into a light shower, Dean looking through the willows branches to see if it was safe to make the dash to the impala and he could see that the sun was trying to break through the clouds. Just as they were about to move however, a notification came though on Eileen’s phone, prompting her to pull it from her back pocket to take a look.

“Oh my god” She uttered, her free hand coming to cover her mouth.

“What?” Dean panicked, thinking the worst.

Eileen looked straight at Dean, her eyes brimming with tears “Dean, it’s the publishers”

“What!” Dean exclaimed, scooting closer to her “Read it, read it” he urged, running his hand through her hair in encouragement.

This was it, this was the moment of truth and Eileen couldn’t deny the feeling of dread she had in her stomach. She couldn’t face another rejection not today. So she opened the email and shoved it into Dean’s face, letting him read it to her, all the while keep her eyes tightly closed.

Dean broke into a grin when he read the email and nudged her gently, encouraging her to open her eyes. When she did, he nodded at her phone which made her look down and read her own email.

“They loved my idea, they want to discuss publication details with me” Eileen squealed, her legs shaking with excitement.

Dean laughed at her reaction, using the arm that was wrapped around her shoulders to bring her in for a kiss “Congratulations sweetheart” He muttered against her hair as he placed a gently kiss on her temple.

Eileen was on cloud nine, reading the email over and over again. She nearly missed Dean’s question “How is your story going?”

Placing her phone back into her pocket, she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears “Good, I’m at the chapter where the two protagonists have realised their feelings for each other” She joked, coyly smiling towards Dean.

“Oh really?” The green eyed Winchester raised his eyebrows, quickly cottoning on to what Eileen was implying.

“Uh – huh” She smiled, leaning closer towards his plump lips.

“So what will happen next?” He whispered, his nose brushing against hers.

“You’ll have to read it to find out” She replied, her lips merely inches away from his.

Dean leant down for a simply kiss, sighing in contentment as he spoke softly “Need some inspiration?”

All Eileen could do was nod.

“Always”

A/N: What do you guys think? Let me know HERE!:)

Any feedback would mean the absolute world to me so if you have the time, i’ll love you forever!

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x ofc #dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x au #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester oneshot #dean oneshot #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #spnfamily

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gregmatheny11 · 4 years

Text

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londontheatre · 7 years

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Steffan Rhodri and Nathaniel Parker in THIS HOUSE at Chichester Festival Theatre. Photo by Johan Persson

Rehearsals began today (Monday 22nd January 2018) for the first UK tour of This House, which opens at West Yorkshire Playhouse on 23 February (national press night 28 February). The cast – who play a colourful host of MPs and Whips – is Ian Barritt (Batley & Morley/Woolwich West/Belfast North/Western Isles & Ensemble), William Chubb (Humphrey Atkins), Giles Cooper (Fred Silvester), Stephen Critchlow (Bromsgrove/Abingdon/Liverpool Edge Hill/Paisley/Fermanagh & Ensemble), James Gaddas (Walter Harrison), Natalie Grady (Ann Taylor), Ian Houghton (Armagh, Ambulance Man, Ensemble), David Hounslow (Joe Harper), Marcus Hutton (Ensemble), Harry Kershaw (Paddington South/Chelmsford/South Ayrshire/Henley/Marioneth /Coventry North West/Rushcliffe/Perry Barr & Ensemble), Louise Ludgate (Rochester & Chatham/Welwyn & Hatfield/Coventry South West/Ilford North/Lady Batley & Ensemble), Geoffrey Lumb (Clockmaker/Peebles/Redditch/Stirlingshire West/Clerk & Ensemble), Nicholas Lumley (Oxshott/Belfast West/St Helens & Ensemble), Martin Marquez (Bob Mellish), Matthew Pidgeon (Jack Weatherill), Miles Richardson (Speaker Act I/Mansfield/Sergeant at Arms Act II/West Lothian & Ensemble), Tony Turner (Michael Cocks), Orlando Wells (Walsall North/Plymouth Sutton/Serjeant at Arms Act I/Speaker Act II/Caernarfon/Clerk & Ensemble) and Charlotte Worthing (Ensemble). Ian Houghton, David Hounslow, Matthew Pidgeon, Tony Turner and Orlando Wells return to This House having previously appeared in the West End production.

James Graham’s critically acclaimed and prescient political drama takes on a new importance in the current political climate. Are we in the midst of a political revolution? Can the country stay united? Roll back to 1974… The corridors of Westminster ring with the sound of infighting and back biting as Britain’s political parties’ battle to change the future of the nation, whatever it takes.

In an era of chaos, both hilarious and shocking, when votes are won or lost by one, there are fist fights in the parliamentary bars, high-stakes tricks and games are played, and sick MPs are carried through the lobby to register their crucial votes as the government hangs by a thread. This House strips politics down to the practical realities of those behind the scenes; the whips who roll up their sleeves and on occasion bend the rules to shepherd and coerce a diverse chorus of MPs within the Mother of all Parliaments.

Directed by Jeremy Herrin with Jonathan O’Boyle, the production is designed by Rae Smith with lighting design by Paule Constable and Ben Pickersgill on tour, music by Stephen Warbeck, choreography by Scott Ambler and sound by Ian Dickinson.

This House is produced on tour by Jonathan Church Productions and Headlong.

Cast Ian Barritt – Batley & Morley/Woolwich West/Belfast North/Western Isles & Ensemble Theatre includes: The Life of Galileo, The Alchemist (National Theatre), The Shawshank Redemption (UK Tour), Rebecca (UK Tour) Handbagged, Remarkable Invisible (The Theatre by the Lake, Keswick), The Lower Depths (Arcola), Hamlet, All’s Well That Ends Well, The Tempest, Troilus and Cressida (Tobacco Factory), Other Desert Cities (English Theatre of Frankfurt), Othello (Sheffield Crucible), Uncle Vanya (Bristol Old Vic/Galway Festival), Kes, Separate Tables (Manchester Royal Exchange), Richard II, Corionlanus (Almeida/New York/Tokyo), Gates of Gold (Manchester Library), One Night In November (Coventry Belgrade).Television includes: Wolf Hall, The Musketeers, Attila The Hun, Doctor Who, Upstairs Downstairs, Doctors, Foyle’s War, Life On Mars, Only Fools and Horse.

William Chubb – Humphrey Atkins Theatre includes: Racing Demon (Theatre Royal Bath), Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, King Lear (Old Vic), In The Depths of Dead Love (The Print Room), Lawrence After Arabia (Hampstead Theatre), Waste, Great Britain, Othello, Scenes from an Execution (National Theatre), Richard II (Shakespeare’s Globe), The Vortex, A Midsummer Nights Dream, Love’s Labours Lost (Rose Theatre, Kingston), Yes Prime Minister (Chichester Festival Theatre/West End), The History Boys (National Theatre), The Sea (Theatre Royal Haymarket). Television includes: Close to the Enemy, My Baby, Breathless, Edge of Heaven, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Law and Order, Silk, The Bill. Films include: 6 Days, Adrift in Soho, Tees, Veer, Affair of the Necklace, Mrs Caldicot’s Cabbage War, Milk, The Woodlanders.

Giles Cooper – Fred Silvester Theatre includes: The Duchess of Malfi, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, Henry V (Shakespeare’s Globe), People, After the Dance (National Theatre), As Is (Arion Productions), Great Expectations (ETT), The Talented Mr Ripley (Northampton Royal), Trilby (Finborough), Dreams of Violence (Soho/Out of Joint), Think Global, F**k Local (Royal Court/Out of Joint), A Touch of the Sun (Salisbury Playhouse), Rafts and Dreams (Royal Court), The Witches (West End), Full Circle (Triumph Ent.), The Witches (Birmingham Rep), Twelfth Night (Bolton Octagon), Across Oka, Rafts and Dreams (Manchester Royal Exchange). Television Includes: Hollyoaks, Consenting Adults. Film includes: The Lady in the Van, Pride, Apollo and the Continents, The Nun.

Stephen Critchlow – Bromsgrove/Abingdon/Liverpool Edge Hill/Paisley/Fermanagh & Ensemble Theatre includes: Filthy Business, Loyalty (Hampstead Theatre), The Men From The Ministry Reloaded (The White Bear), The 39 Steps (The Criterion Theatre), Pygmalion (The Albery Theatre), Hamlet (West End), Cyrano De Bergerac (National Theatre), A Christmas Carol, The Relapse, When We Are Married (Birmingham Rep), Soap, Time of My Life, Twelfth Night, (Theatre Royal Northampton), The Game of Love and Chance (Salisbury Playhouse), Round The Horne Revisited (UK Tour). Television includes: Downton Abbey, Guerrilla, Little Lord Fauntleroy, The Prince And The Pauper, Cider With Rosie, Heartbeat, Red Dwarf 11, Miranda, Coronation Street, Casualty, Holby City, Doctors, Skins, Hattie, Fantabuloza, The Armando Iannucci show, The Railway Murder, The Thieving Headmistress, Trial And Retribution, Blue Murder, Daziel and Pascoe, The Vice, Without Motive, Heartbeat, Walking on the Moon, Baggy Trousers, A Likeness in Stone, A Line in the Sand, The Vice, Back Up, The Bill, Monarch of the Glen. Film includes: A Way Through The Woods, Fogbound, The Calcium Kid, Churchill The Hollywood Years.

James Gaddas – Walter Harrison Theatre includes: The Girls (Phoenix Theatre), Billy Elliot (Palace Theatre), Mamma Mia (Novello), Spamalot (UK Tour), Art (Wyndhams Theatre), Peter Pan (Curve, Leicester), The Messiah (West Yorkshire Playhouse), You Never Know Who’s Out There (Drill Hall), A Passionate Woman (Comedy), Jackie, A Chorus of Disapproval (Lyric Hammersmith), Three Guys Naked From The Waist Down, (Donmar Warehouse). Television Includes: Bad Girls, Coronation Street, Emmerdale, Waterloo Road, Against The Law, Casualty, Holby City, The Camomile Lawn, Medics, Class Act, Troubles, The Bill, Backup, Dogtown, Vincent, Jonathan Creek, Grafters, Heartbeat, Between The Lines, Secrets, El Cid. Film Includes: Starter For Ten, The Human Bomb, Girl’s Night, The Black Candle, Dead Man’s Folly, A Hazard of Hearts, The Pied Piper, Last Days Of Summer.

Natalie Grady – Ann Taylor Theatre includes: Julius Caesar, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Storyhouse Chester), Brassed Off (Oldham Coliseum), Marth, Josie and The Chinese Elvis (Hull Truck), To Kill a Mockingbird (Regent’s Park Theatre/ UK Tour), Hobson’s Choice (Bolton Octagon). Television Includes: Hollyoaks, Snatch, Trollied, Endeavour, 6 Wives, Coronation Street, Doctors, Jam and Jerusalem.

Marcus Hutton – Understudy Marcus trained at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Theatre includes: Private Lives (Nottingham Playhouse), Naomi (The Gate), Slave Island, Don Juan (Manchester Royal Exchange), The Scarlet Pimpernel (Wolsey Ipswich), Crusade (Theatre Royal Stratford East), She Stoops to Conquer (Oxford Stage Company), Tis Pity She’s a Whore (Exeter Northcott), Tess of the D’urbevilles (Horseshoe Basingstoke), Flags and Bandages (Colchester Mercury), Reeling (New Vic Productions), The Lady from the Sea (Portlands Playhouse), Secrets of Cherry on the Run (Riverside Studios), Table Manners (UK Tour), Sound of Murder (UK Tour), Dial M for Murder (UK Tour), Kiss Chase (UK Tour), The Ghost and Mrs Muir (UK Tour), Dangerous Obsession (UK Tour), Suddenly at Home (UK Tour), Jeckyll and Hyde (UK Tour), What the Butler Saw (UK Tour), The Wind in the Willows (UK Tour). Film includes: Made in Dagenham, I’m Here, Cycle, Deep in the Woods, The Dark Channel, The Wager, Framed, Grandma.Television includes: Midsomer Murders, Making Beach, Holby City, Dr Who, Love Hurts, Lovejoy, Diana: Her True Story, A Class Act, The New Professionals, The Inspector Alleyn Mysteries, Crocodile Shoes, Smack The Pony, Hollyoaks, Brookside. Marcus is a founder member of the Radio City Theatre Company.

Ian Houghton – Armagh, Ambulance Man, Ensemble Theatre includes: War Horse (New London Theatre), This House (West End), The Audience, Yes, Prime Minister (Gielgud Theatre), Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus (UK Tour), The Best Man (UK Tour), Boeing Boeing (UK Tour), The Fastest Clock in the Universe (Old Red Lion), Unrestless (Old Vic New Voices), What’s Wrong with Angry? (King’s Head) Moonlight and Magnolias (Hertford Theatre), Woman in Mind, Oliver! (Gordon Craig Theatre) Decade (Theatre503), Art, Gagarin Way, Journey’s End, A Day in the Death of Joe Egg, The Government Inspector, Incorruptible, Absurd Person Singular, Noises Off (The Company of Players). Television includes: Harley and the Davidsons, Mr. Selfridge, Eastenders, Call the Midwife, The Great Outdoors, Waking the Dead, MI High and Moving Wallpaper. Film includes: RocknRolla and Breaking and Entering.

David Hounslow – Joe Harper Theatre includes: This House (National Theatre/Chichester Festival Theatre/West End), The Fall Of The Master Builder (West Yorkshire Playhouse), Queen Coal (Sheffield Crucible), The Empty Quarter (Hampstead Theatre), Way Upstream (Salisbury Playhouse), Too Much Pressure (Coventry Begrade), Warm (Theatre 503), Billy Liar (Liverpool Playhouse), Tamburlaine (Bristol Old Vic/Barbican), A Night At The Dogs (Soho Theatre), The Rise And Fall Of Little Voice (Royal Exchange Manchester), Holes In The Skin (Chichester), Dealer’s Choice, My Night With Reg, Perpetua, First Person Shooter, (Birmingham Rep), Tales From Hollywood, Privates On Parade (Donmar Warehouse), Alcestis (Northern Broadsides), All of You Mine, A Question Of Mercy (Bush Theatre), Othello, Henry V, Coriolanus, The Wives Excuse, Zenobia (Royal Shakespeare Company), Bent (National Theatre/West End), Fuente Ovejuna (National Theatre), Macbeth, Billy Budd (Sheffield Crucible), Our Boys (Cockpit), Treasure Island (Farnham Redgrave), The Snowman (Leicester Haymarket). Film includes: London Kills Me, Captives, Fever Pitch, The Man Who Knew Too Little, I Want You, Tabloid TV, The Flying Scotsman, The International, Defining Fay, Ginger and Rosa, Peterloo. Television includes: The Unknown Soldier, Coronation Street, Othello, Children of the North, Gone to the Dogs, The Bill, Resnick, True Crimes, Minder, Bad Company, Under The Hammer, Anna Lee, Soldier Soldier, Deadly Crack, The Cinder Path, Chandler and Co., Six Sides of Coogan, Crimes and Punishment, Turning World, Is It Legal, Peak Practice, A Wing and a Prayer, Dangerfield, Playing the Field, The Unknown Soldier, Bugs, Within Living Memory ,Casualty, Eastenders, City Central, Bomber, Always and Everyone, Peak Practice, Silent Witness, North Square, Doctors, Heartbeat, London’s Burning, Margery & Gladys, Ultimate Force, Crisis Command, Blackpool, Holby City, The Brief, Doctors, Robin Hood, Jekyll, Dalziel And Pascoe, Is This Love?, Coronation Street, Little Miss Jocelyn, MI High, Dead Set, Bonekickers, Waking The Dead, Spooks IX, Homefront, Foyle’s War, The Bletchley Circle II, Emmerdale, Moving On, Bad Move.

Harry Kershaw – Paddington South/Chelmsford/South Ayrshire/Henley/Merioneth/Coventry North West/Rushcliffe/Perry Barr & Ensemble Harry trained at RADA. Theatre includes: Mischief Movie Night (Arts Theatre), Peter Pan Goes Wrong (West End/UK Tour), The Play That Goes Wrong (West End), One Man Two Guvnors (West End), The Circle Game (Old Vic New Voices).Television includes: Peter Pan Goes Wrong (Christmas Special), Supreme Tweeter, The Interceptor, Omid Djalili’s Little Cracker, Switch, Cuckoo, Wallander, Endeavour. Film includes: Unhappy Campers, Exhibition, Unrelated, Blue Monday, Great Expectations, Skyfall, Rufus Stone, The Date.

Louise Ludgate – Rochester & Chatham/Welwyn & Hatfield/Coventry Sount West/Ilford North/Lady Batley & Ensemble Theatre includes: Iron (Traverse/Royal Court) Lanark, Sub Rosa (Citizen’s Theatre), Sex and Drugs, Greta, Class Act, First Bite (Traverse Theatre), The House of Bernada Alba, Little Otik, Macbeth, Realism, Home (National Theatre of Scotland), Strawgirl, The Adoptive Papers (Royal Exchange Manchester), Trojan Women (Tobacco Factory), World Domination, Resurrection, The Course of True Love (Oran Mor Theatre), When The Dons Were Kings, Guilty, the Course of True Love, Fishwrap (The Lemon Tree), Jeff Koons (UK Tour), Balgay Hill (Dundee Rep), 13 Sunken Years (Assembly Rooms/Finnish National Theatre). Film includes: City of the Blind, Swung, No Man’s Land, Goodbye Happy Ending, Café Rendevous, The Last Ten Minutes. Television includes: River City, Freedom, Taggart, Kissing Tickling and Being Bored, High Times, Sea of Souls, The Key, Spooks, Tinsel Town, Glasgow Kiss, Robert Burns ‘Alive and Kicking’.

Geoffrey Lumb – Clockmaker/Peebles/Redditch/Stirlingshire West/Clerk & Ensemble Geoffrey trained at Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. Theatre includes: Vice Versa, Coriolanus, Much Ado About Nothing, Romeo and Juliet, King John, Shrew, The American Pilot, The Comedy of Errors, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (RSC), King Charles III (UK tour/Australia), Much Ado About Nothing (Lamb Players), Macbeth, Twelfth Night (Filter Theatre Company), Prophesy, Macbeth (Baz Theatre Productions), Fitzrovia Radio Hour Tour (UK tour), Chekhov in Hell (Soho Theatre/Drum Plymouth), Romeo and Juliet (US Tour), Rendezvous with Fear (Fitzrovia Radio Hour), His Dark Materials (Birmingham Rep/West Yorkshire Playhouse), Rendition Monologues (Bridewell Theatre/Queen Elizabeth Hall), The Changeling, Twelfth Night (English Touring Theatre), Hansel & Gretel (Northampton Theatre Royal). Television includes: Holby City, 24: Live Another Day, Doctors, Hollyoaks, Luther, Europe’s Secret Armies. Film includes: Paddington 2

Nicholas Lumley – Oxshott/Belfast West/St Helens & Ensemble Nicholas read Law at Newcastle University before training at the Bristol Old Vic. Theatre includes: Dr Faustus, Don Quixote, Beaux Stratagem, Midsummer Nights Dream, Kiss Me Kate (RSC), Great Britain, NT 50, The Magistrate, After The Dance, Never So Good, Afterlife (National Theatre), Timon of Athens (Young Vic), Sergeant Musgraves Dance, Richard II (Old Vic), Tyne (Live Theatre), Pitman Painters (Royal National Theatre/ UK Tour); Close The Coalhouse Door (UK Tour), Much Ado about Nothing (Wyndhams Theatre), The Company Man (Orange Tree Theatre) Porridge (UK Tour), Looking for Buddy (Live Theatre, Newcastle/Bolton Octagon), The Sound of Music (Apollo Victoria), The Canterbury Tales (Garrick Theatre), Chorus of Disapproval (Lyric Theatre),The Bakers Wife, Richard II, Richard III (Phoenix Theatre), Bellman’s Opera (The Pit), Brighton Rock (Almeida), Little Voice, Rope (Watermill), Oleanna, Educating Rita (Salisbury Playhouse). Television includes: Downton Abbey, Houdini and Doyle, Doc Martin, Parade’s End, Vera, George Gently, Enid, Auf Wiedersehen Pet, The Bill, Lovejoy, Kavanagh QC, Wycliffe, Catherine Cookson’s The Secret, Holby City, Crossroads, Wilderness, Eastenders, Coronation Street, Derailed. Films include: Peterloo, Where Hands Touch, Paddington 2, Lady Macbeth, Winterflight, Stormy Monday Goal!, Right Hand Drive, Across the Universe.

Martin Marquez – Bob Mellish Theatre includes: Husbands & Sons, Anything Goes, Loves Labour’s Lost, Mother Courage & Her Children (National Theatre), Much Ado About Nothing, Imogen (Shakespeare’s Globe), Ah, Wilderness (Young Vic), Cleansed, Identical Twins (Royal Court Theatre), Fool For Love, Front Page (Donmar Warehouse), The Iceman Cometh (The Old Vic), Snowball (Hampstead Theatre) Gondoliers, I Caught My Death In Venice, Insignificance, Pal Joey (Chichester Festival Theatre), The Crucible, Don Juan, Of Mice and Men (West Yorkshire Playhouse), Brothers Marquez (Soho Theatre), Romeo and Juliet (Nottingham Playhouse), Before I Leave (National Theatre of Wales), Blasted (Sheffield Theatres), From Here To Eternity (Eternity Productions Ltd), 4 Knights in Knaresborough (Tricycle), Asylum (Queen Elizabeth Hall), Biloxi Blues (Library Manchester), Boeing Boeing (UK Tour) The Dark Side of Buffoon, The Sea (Belgrade Theatre). Film includes: After Louise, Girl on a Bicycle, A Louder Silence, Les Miserables, The Business.Television includes: The Crown, New Tricks, Elizabeth, Empire, Hotel Babylon, Lead Balloon, Dead Pixels, Bounty Hunter, Modus, Decline and Fall, Suntrap, The Javone Prince Show, The Job Lot, Woody, Vera, Knifeman, Benidorm, The Whale, Twenty Twelve, Falcon – Blind Man of Seville, Holy Flying Circus, Eastenders, Heartbeat, Dirty Tricks, The Plastic Man, Murder Most Horrid, The Bill, In Suspicious Circumstances.

Matthew Pidgeon – Jack Weatherill Theatre includes: This House (Chichester/West End/National Theatre), Salome (RSC), The James Plays (National Theatre of Scotland UK/World Tour), Wolf Hall & Bring Up the Bodies (RSC/Aldwych Theatre/Broadway), Edward II (National Theatre), Midsummer (Traverse Theatre/World Tour), Much Ado About Nothing, The Mysteries (Shakespeare’s Globe), Kyoto (Traverse Theatre) The Wonderful World of Dissocia, Realism, Caledonia (National Theatre of Scotland) The Lying Kind (The Royal Court), The Cherry Orchard, The Wizard of Oz, Vanity Fair, Pinocchio, The Glass Menagerie (Lyceum Theatre Edinburgh). Television includes: Taggart, Casualty, Holby. Film includes: Daphne, The Winslow Boy, State and Main, A Shot at Glory.

Miles Richardson – Speaker Act I/Mansfield/Serjeant at Arms Act II/West Lothian & Ensemble Miles graduated from Arts Educational Drama Collage in 1982, winning the Best Actor award. Theatre includes: Macbeth, Death of a Salesman, The Caucasian Chalk Circle (Newcastle Rep) Another Country (Queens) Romeo & Juliet (Ludlow Festival) Wilfred, A Midsummer Nights Dream, An Inspector Calls, The Contractor (Birmingham Rep) Othello (Theatr Clwyd) Private Lives (Theatre Royal York) Richard II & Richard III (UK Tour) An Evening with Gary Lineker (Lyric) The Seagull (Bromley) Journeys End (Kings Head) Charley’s Aunt, The Three Musketeers (Canizzaro Park) The Picture of Dorian Gray (Westminster Theatre) The Three Musketeers (UK Tour) Romeo & Juliet (Hull Truck) Wuthering Heights, Cause Celebre, First Class Passengers (Pitlochry) The Invisible Man (Stratford East/Vaudeville Theatre/Harold Pinter Theatre) Candida, The Lovers, Playing Sinatra (New End) Lulu (Almeida/Kennedy Center, Washington DC) A Doll’s House, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Warwick) The Rivals (Wimbledon) The Moment of Truth, Dear Brutus (Southwark Playhouse), Anjin: The Shogun and the English Samurai (Tokyo/Sadler’s Wells), 12 Angry Men (Garrick Theatre), King Charles the Third (Wyndhams Theatre/Broadway) King John (Rose Theatre Kingston) Sleuth (Nottingham) Loves Labours Lost, All’s Well That Ends Well, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, As You Like It, Volpone, Henry IV pt1, Henry IV pt2, Henry V, Henry VI pt1, Henry VI pt2, Henry VI pt3, Richard III (RSC). Television includes: Elizabeth, Highlander, Byron, Inspector Lynley Mysteries, The King Must Die, Porterhouse Blue, Allo,Allo, The Brief, Cambridge Spies, Miss Marple, Doctors, Upstairs Downstairs, Dirk Gently, Doctor Who, Jo, Midsomer Murders, Dancing on the Edge, Sick Note, Lucan, Genius, The Crown. Film includes: Maurice, Harry Potter & The Sorcerer’s Stone, The Best Offer, Beat Girl, The Remains of the Day, Flushed away, A Princess for Christmas, Mindgame, Their Finest, A Quiet Passion, The Colour of Magic, Big Pants, The Return of Sherlock Holmes, Sabotage, Titanic, Peterloo, The Queen of Spain.

Tony Turner – Michael Cocks Theatre includes: Ink (Almeida/West End) This House (National Theatre/Chichester/West End), The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Night Time (West End) Burnt by the Sun, Her Naked Skin, Present Laughter, Playing With Fire, The UN Inspector (National Theatre), Measure for Measure, Big White Fog, Enemies (Almeida Theatre), The House of Special Purpose (Chichester Festival Theatre), The Damned United (West Yorkshire Playhouse/Derby Theatre), The School for Scheming (Orange Tree Theatre) Journey’s End (UK Tour/West End), Personal Enemy (Brits Off Broadway), One Night In November (Belgrade Theatre), The Jail Diary of Albie Sachs (Salisbury Playhouse), Mad World My Masters, Neville’s Island (New Wolsey), Madness of George III (West Yorkshire Playhouse/Birmingham Rep), The Danny Crowe Show (Bush Theatre), Christmas Carol (Stoke New Vic), Talent (Colchester Mercury/Watford Palace Theatre), Communicating Doors (Manchester Library Theatre), Macbeth, Othello (Liverpool Everyman), Romeo and Juliet (Birmingham Rep). Television includes: Delicious, WPC 56, Call The Midwife, Downton Abbey, Loving Miss Hatto, Holby City, Silk, Doctors, Andrew Osler, Maxwell, Party Animals, Gavin & Stacey, Trial & Retribution XIII, Foyle’s War, Derailed, Eyes Down, Red Carp, Coronation Street, Children’s Ward, September Song.

Orlando Wells – Walsall North/Plymouth Sutton/Serjeant at Arms Act I/Speaker Act II/Caernarfon/Clerk & Ensemble Orlando trained at LAMDA. Theatre includes: This House (Chichester Festival Theatre/West End), Noises Off, Tonight at 8:30 (English Touring Theatre), The Woman In Black (Fortune Theatre), Katrina (Bargehouse, South Bank), Our Country’s Good (Watermill), The History Boys (National Theatre), Pirandello’s Henry IV (Donmar Warehouse), A Midsummer Night’s Dream, The Modernists (Sheffield Crucible), The Tempest (Plymouth Theatre Royal), A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, Anthony and Cleopatra (RSC), Treehouses (Northcott Exeter), Deathrap (Vienna’s English Theatre), The Journey of Mary Kelly (Theatre Clwyd). Television includes: Father Brown, Casualty, Holby City, A Very British Sex Scandal, Doctors, Nowhere Left to Hide, Living the Quake, The Machioness Disaster, Slave Dynasty, As If, Trust, A Rather English Marriage, Killer Net, Mosley, After the War. Film includes: The King’s Speech, Midsummer Madness, Zemanovaload, Wilde. Orlando is also a writer for Theatre and Television.

Charlotte Worthing – Understudy Charlotte trained at Oxford School of Drama and East 15 Acting School. Theatre includes Princess Charming (Spun Glass Theatre and Ovalhouse Theatre), These Trees Are Made Of Blood (Arcola Theatre and Southwark Playhouse), A Midsummer Night’s Dream (The Young Shakespeare Company), Twelfth Night (Open Bar Theatre Company), The Absolute Truth About Absolutely Everything (Camden People’s Theatre), The Wind in the Willows (Open Book Theatre Company), The Just So Stories (National Tour for Red Table Theatre Company), Little Pieces of Gold (Theatre503), Wait (Arcola Theatre), The Wasabi Nut (National Theatre of Scotland). Film includes Here and Now, Souljacker, Coincidence. Television includes Panorama.

Creatives

James Graham won the Pearson Playwriting Bursary in 2006 and went on to win the Catherine Johnson Award for Best Play of 2007 for Eden’s Empire. His upcoming and recent plays include The Culture – A Farce in Two Acts for Hull Truck Theatre, Quiz (Chichester Festival Theatre, transferring to the West End this spring), Labour of Love (West End), Ink (Almeida and West End), Monster Raving Loony (Theatre Royal, Plymouth), The Vote (Donmar Warehouse), Finding Neverland (American Repertory Theater), The Angry Brigade (Theatre Royal, Plymouth and The Bush) and Privacy (Donmar Warehouse). His television credits include the award-winning Coalition (Channel 4) and his film credits include X+Y (BBC Films).

Jeremy Herrin is Artistic Director of Headlong, for which he has directed Labour of Love (a Headlong and Michael Grandage Company co-production), Junkyard (Bristol Old Vic/Theatr Clwyd/Rose Theatre Kingston), Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme (UK Tour), The Absence of War (UK Tour) and The Nether (at the Royal Court and in the West End). For the National Theatre his directing credits include Common (A co-production with Headlong), The Plough and the Stars (co-directed with Howard Davies), People, Places & Things (A co-production with Headlong which transferred to the West End, toured the UK tour and played a sold out run at St Ann’s Warehouse, New York in 2017), This House (Olivier nomination for Best Director), which transferred to Chichester Festival Theatre and the West End in a co-production with Headlong, and Statement of Regret. For the RSC he directed the world premiere of Hilary Mantel’s Man Booker prize-winning novels Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, which transferred to the West End in May 2014 and Broadway in March 2015 and for which he won the Evening Standard Award for Best Director and was nominated for an Olivier and Tony Award.

Jonathan O’Boyle’s credits include: Pippin (Southwark Playhouse/Hope Mill Theatre), Dear Brutus (Southwark Playhouse), Hair (Hope Mill Theatre/The Vaults), Four Play, Sense of an Ending, Water Under the Board (Theatre503), Bash Latterday Plays (Trafalgar Studios/Old Red Lion), The Surplus, All The Ways To Say Goodbye (Young Vic), The Verb, ‘To Love’, Made in Britain (Old Red Lion), Broken Glass (Central School of Speech and Drama), Last Online Today, Guinea Pigs (Crucible New Writers’ Project, Sheffield Crucible Studio), The Monster Bride (Tristan Bates Theatre). Associate Director Credits include: An American in Paris (Dominion Theatre), This House (Chichester Festival Theatre/West End), The Judas Kiss (Ed Mirvish Theatre, Toronto/Brooklyn Academy of Music), Mack and Mabel (Chichester Festival Theatre/UK Tour), Bull (Young Vic), This Is My Family (Sheffield Lyceum/UK Tour). Assistant Director credits include: The Scottsboro Boys (Young Vic). Jonathan was selected as one of the Guardian’s Rising Stage Stars of 2014.

About Headlong Headlong creates exhilarating contemporary theatre: a provocative mix of innovative new writing, reimagined classics and influential twentieth-century plays that illuminate our world.

Headlong is one of the most ambitious & exciting theatre companies in the world. We make bold, innovative productions with some of the UK’s finest artists. We take these industry leading, award-winning shows around the country & beyond, in theatres & online, attracting new audiences of all ages & backgrounds. We engage as deeply as we can with these communities & this helps us become better at what we do.

Productions have included Labour of Love (Noël Coward Theatre), People, Places & Things (National Theatre/West End/UK Tour/New York), The House They Grew Up In (Chichester Festival Theatre), Common (National Theatre), Junkyard (Bristol Old Vic, Theatr Clwyd and Rose Theatre Kingston), This House (Chichester Festival Theatre and West End), Pygmalion (UK tour), Boys Will Be Boys (Bush Theatre), 1984 (UK and international tours and West End), The Nether (Royal Court Theatre and West End), American Psycho (Almeida and Broadway), Chimerica (Almeida and West End), and Enron (UK tour, West End and Broadway).

https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/shows/this-house-on-tour

http://ift.tt/2DXZMmF London Theatre 1

#IFTTT #London Theatre 1

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‘Keep talking to me’: Hyderabad vet’s last phone call to sister - india news

The scene changes drastically as you drive off the Hyderabad-Bangalore highway at the Chatanpally crossing. The wide road leads to a narrow path, concrete gives way to mud, and bright lights switch to total darkness. On this zigzagged path, an underpass opens out on to the service road on the other side. Inside this underpass is one of the quietest, darkest, and remotest patches of land on the 285-km route connecting two state capitals. It’s so cut off from the buzz of speeding cars above that it’s unlikely anyone would have noticed someone being set on fire inside it — especially in the middle of the night. And no one did on the intervening night of November 27 and 28.At 5am on November 28, a milkman from Chatanpally village took the underpass on his way to the other side and saw something burning. He dismissed it as a fire lit by someone to keep warm. On his way back, at 7am, the fire was still on. Curious, he went to inspect it and saw a human hand sticking out of the fire. He called up the police on his mobile phone. By then, officers at the Shadnagar police station were already looking for a missing person for a few hours.A 26-year-old veterinary doctor in a southern suburb of Hyderabad left her house at 5.30pm the previous day. The last time her family heard from her was at 9. 22pm when she called her sister from a toll plaza on the Bangalore-Hyderabad highway, and told her that she was feeling scared. She said her scooter had a puncture and a bunch of men had offered to help, but she was feeling uncomfortable around them. “Keep talking to me,” she told her sister a few minutes before disconnecting the call. When her sister rang her back on her mobile phone at 9. 45pm, she found it switched off. Her sister rushed to file a complaint at the nearest police station at Rajiv Gandhi International Airport police station, but she was told by the officers on duty that the toll plaza didn’t fall in their jurisdiction. The family claims they were told that she may have just “eloped with a boyfriend” and also asked whether she had any “lovers or affairs”.At 3.10am, the family finally managed to register a missing-person complaint at Shadnagar police station. These were crucial hours as the police would discover later: between 9.45 and 10.30pm, the woman was gang-raped and murdered a few metres off the Nehru-ORR toll plaza. The crimes were allegedly plotted hours previously. At 6pm, when the 26-year-old drove to the toll plaza from her house, 10km away, to park her scooter and hail a shared taxi farther into the city, a common practice for residents in the suburb, she didn’t notice four young men sitting in a circle and sharing a bottle of whiskey. As the police later pieced together, the four men, Mohammed Arif (26), Jolly Shiva (20), Jollu Naveen (20) and Chenna Keshavalu (21), worked as drivers and cleaners of a lorry that plied between Bangalore and Hyderabad carrying construction material, mainly iron nails and bricks. Somewhere on the route, the police said, they stopped at a scrap shop, sold off a pack of iron nails, and bought four bottles of liquor. They were making their way through the first bottle when they noticed the young woman park her scooter and get into a taxi headed towards Gachibowli, 20km away, where she had an appointment with a dermatologist. One of them punctured her scooter’s tyre shortly after she left. Then they resumed the drinking, and waited for her to return. At 9. 20pm, when she came back and discovered the flat tyre, the leader of the group, Arif, approached her and offered help. Arif walked with her to the toll booth and asked the operator to point them in the direction of a bike repair shop, as the operator, Shonu, told the police. He gave them directions to a repair shop a short distance away, but on the side road leading off the highway. As the vet dragged the scooter with the group of men off the highway, Arif suggested that one of his men proceed to the repair shop while the others wait with her near toll plaza. The remaining three men persuaded her to walk into a dark compound housing an abandoned worker’s room surrounded by overgrown bushes to the left of the plaza. This is when she panicked and called up her sister, but between the time she hung up and her sister called her back, the fourth man had returned, and one of them had seized her mobile phone and turned it off. Then the group was taking turns to rape her, after forcing her to consume some liquor, according to the police report. “They forcibly committed gang rape against her will and consent, robbed her of her belongings, and murdered her by smothering,” said the remand report of the Shadnagar police. By 11pm, the four men allegedly tossed her dead body into their lorry and planned its disposal. While two of them, with Arif at the wheel, drove the lorry towards Bangalore, the other two followed them on the vet’s scooter. They then decided to burn the body.“Shiva and Naveen went to a petrol bunk to purchase petrol but the worker there refused to give petrol,” the report said. It was he who later gave the investigating officers their first breakthrough. On November 29, a worker at an Essar petrol bunk near Nandigama village, called the Shadnagar police after watching the news, and told them that on the midnight of 27/28 November, two men aged around 20 came in on a red Hero Maestro scooter and asked for petrol to be filled in a plastic bottle. “They went to another bunk and purchased petrol to set fire to the body. On the way, near Ashiyana Hotel, they found a bridge and decided to dispose of the body under the bridge,” the report added. “Chenna Keshavulu turned the lorry towards Hyderabad and they took the dead body under the bridge. Arif poured petrol on the body, Naveen poured diesel, and Shiva lit the fire with a match box. Sim card, handbag of the deceased were thrown in the flames … Arif and Keshavulu left the spot in lorry, Shiva and Naveen followed on the scooty. On the way, near Kothur bus stop, Shiva and Naveen parked the scooty and boarded the lorry.” They removed the number plate of the scooter before leaving it behind. Then they went to their villages, changed their clothes, and went to bed. At 7am on November 28, the police station in Shadnagar received information about the burning body. A police team arrived shortly with the father of the missing doctor who took one look at the remains and identified his daughter.SHOCK, ANGERBased on information from the CCTV cameras on the highway and leads from the toll-booth operator, the scooter repair mechanic, the petrol pump workers and the owner of the lorry fleet, the police arrested the four suspects from the neighbouring Narayanpet district hours after the discovery of the dead body. They are currently in a 14-day police remand in Cherlapalli jail just outside Hyderabad.As news travelled, people across India reacted in outrage to the brutal rape and murder of the 26-year-old veterinarian. Many were reminded of the Delhi gang rape in 2012, when a 24-year-old physiotherapy student was raped and murdered in a moving bus by a group of six men, a crime that drove a nationwide movement for women’s rights and a revision of rape laws. In common with the 2012 case, this too was tangled up in gender and class battles; while the victim was a middle-class professional from the city, the perpetrators are blue-collar workers from villages. Protests took place widely, from outside the police station and jail, where the suspects were produced to campuses and streets, from Hyderabad’s Charminar to Delhi’s Jantar Mantar. Near the toll booth where the veterinarian was raped and murdered, 26-year-old protestor Swati Devarakonda, a software developer, said, “ When they said on TV that it was just a few metres away from the toll booth, I couldn’t believe, given that it is busy round-the-clock. Which is why I came to see for myself. She was the same age as me and must have had similar dreams and ambitions. I carry a pepper spray but if four men attack one girl, how can anybody defend themselves? . We should make an example of culprits.”“If our women and children are not safe, what is the use of police and government. Like in Arab countries, publicly behead culprits. This has nothing to do with religion. We should not allow anybody to divide us. If the police, courts can’t handle the culprits, hand them to the public, we will take care,” said Maqdoom Pasha, a fruit seller, who had come to the spot with his wife. Many politicians and ministers in Telangana have visited and consoled the victim’s family. In a series of tweets, KT Rama Rao, minister in state cabinet and son of chief minister K Chandrashekara Rao, pleaded with the Prime Minister: “Hon’ble PM @narenramodi ji, 7 years after Nirbhaya’s ghastly rape and murder, the convicts are not hung…”On Sunday, KCR said that fast track court would ensure speedy justice in the case and that the government would extend all assistance required to the victim’s family. “Everybody comes and tell us justice will be done. What is the use? Will our smiling daughter comeback? After Nirbhaya case too, nothing has changed. That is the tragedy of the country,” said the deceased’s uncle at her building complex. ‘HOW CAN MY SON DO THIS?’Nearly 150km away, in Narayanpet district, the villages are eerily quiet. All four suspects in the case belong to this district. Three of them, Naveen, Shiva and Keshavulu, are from the Gudigandla village, and the main suspect, Arif, from Jakulaire village. Although the district is close and well connected to the IT hubs of Hyderabad, most people in the villages either work in the farms or pick up odd jobs around the city. The three suspects from Gudigandla are school drop-outs who, when they weren’t picked up from the village by lorry drivers, spent their time loafing or sleeping, according to their families and neighbours. “For last six months, he hadn’t worked. He had left for the lorry cleaning job three days ago,” said Lakshmi, mother of Jolly Naveen. Since her husband died in 2006, she works in other people’s farms. She did not have the time to track her son’s habits and movements. “I have my job. I have my daughter,” she said. “When he left he didn’t say where he was going. His work was loading and unloading boxes. He made ~5,000 a month from it. When he came back, he used to be grimy from head to toe. When he came early morning on Thursday, he followed his routine -- had a bath, had food, and slept. Some time later, he got a call from his cousin Chenna Keshavulu and left for his house. He didn’t come back,” she said. Naveen was arrested from the house of Chenna Keshavulu, where the police was waiting for him. Lakshmi found out why he had not returned after watching the news on television and from neighbours. She has been angry ever since. “He is my only son, so I naturally love him, but if they did what is being alleged, then they all deserve to be hanged.”At the house of Jollu Shiva, his father, Jollu Rajaih, says he wasn’t even around when his son left or when he came back, because he was away at a distant farm where he lives and works. He has been to the police station since, he says, but he wasn’t allowed to talk to his son. “I wanted to ask him how and why all of this happened. He never drank, he never spoke to any girl in the village, never troubled anyone,” said Rajaih. The father said he will follow his principles, though. “He is young but he is responsible for his actions. I have a daughter. I won’t stand for any of this if its true.”Across the road from Shiva’s house, Keshavulu’s mother, also a farm worker, refuses to believe her son is capable of rape and murder. “No way he would have done anything. Perhaps he tagged along, stood and watched,” she said. For years, she says, his son has suffered from a kidney defect whose treatment, including monthly dialysis, swallows up most of the family’s earnings. “We took very good care of our son, we pampered him. When will they release him? My husband is very angry, he wants to drink himself to death. I don’t have the will to live,” she said.A short drive from Gandigudla is Jakulaire, Arif’s village, where his parents, too, are dealing with shock. “When he came back that morning, he didn’t eat, he even refused water. He said while he was driving the lorry one girl drove in the opposite direction on her scooter and he hit her by mistake, and she died. This is all I know,” said his mother, Moole Bi. She received information about his alleged actions since, but she would rather not believe it. “How can my son do this?” Source link Read the full article

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