#I will be pushing douglas a little more

[mariocki]

Cape Fear (1991)

"Let's get something straight here. I spent fourteen years in an eight by nine cell, surrounded by people who were less than human. My mission in that time was to become more than human. You see? Granddaddy used to handle snakes in church, Granny drank strychnine. I guess you could say I had a leg up, genetically speaking."

[wraithful-muses]

"Um, Hello everyone. I am Douglas. A native wraith born Imp. I work alot of odd jobs in both Pride, Wraith and sometimes sloth. I-if you need any help with ANYTHING let me know. I do love to be of service when I am able to be." The smaller imp spoke out with long shaggy white hair and golden eyes dressed much like punk rocker with ripped up jeans

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS S2 BTS VIDEO! :)❤ 🐍😊

David: Good Omens 2 will be once more unto the breach...

Michael: The kind of world that Neil and Terry Pratchett created here. It's... it seems to be expanding out into the world in all kinds of unexpected and and truly joyful ways.

Douglas Mackinnon (the directior): If Season one was a comedy about the End of the World, Season Two is a comedy about the beginning of everything else.

Miranda Richardson (demon Shax): The Bromance is continuing.

Doon Mackichan (Archangel Michael): What a cast, is all I can say, incredible, incredible cast.

Liz Carr (angel Saraqael): But of course a script of Good Omens is a whole different thing because anything can happen.

Shelley Con (Prince of Hell Beelzebub): There's always a smirk somewhere around the corner in a Good Omens script.

Quelin Sepulveda (angel Muriel): I had no idea what to expect, where this character was gonna go...

Liz: I feel quite honored that when they were thinking of the realms of sarcasm they thought of me.

Gloria Obianyo (angel Uriel): Seven-year-old me is like, 'Oh my God! This is the stuff of dreams!'

Maggie Service (human Maggie): A whole Fantastical Universe of joy that we just get to playing and you'll get to watch.

Tim Downie (Mr Brown): I am immeasurably, immeasurably excited.

Jon Hamm (Archangel Gabriel / Jim): You know I was very pleased when when I was brought back to be a part of that story.

Neil Gaiman: Ppeople are excited and I'm working so hard to tell them absolutely nothing. I'm very lucky because Michael Sheen and David Tennant love Crowley and Aziraphale. I think the first moment that I saw David and Michael acting together... all of a sudden there was Crowley and there was Aziraphale, it was like seeing two friends who I hadn't seen for years.

David: There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary and there's something about the way things filter through his imagination and of course in this world it also sprinkled with the imagination of Terry Pratchett and those two together created this cocktail that is it's unlike anything you've seen anywhere else and yet it feels utterly familiar.

Michael: And they both have a sense of the absurdity of what it is to be a human.

Rob Wilkins: When you've got David and Michael in front of the camera David and Michael evaporate and you have Crowley in Aziraphale and that relationship it needed it needed interrogating more and of course we all know that Terry and Neil had conversations about what the sequel would be and Neil has taken that and he's blown it up in a way that the viewers are just going to love so what would Terry think? Terry would pat Neil on the back and he would push Good Omens forward, he would break a bottle of champagne over its bows and be absolutely delighted and I know that, I'm the one person on Earth who's been entrusted to know that for certain and I promise you Terry would be absolutely delighted.

David: We've got some cast members coming back, returning but playing different parts which is a lovely little addition to things isn't it, so Miranda Richardson is back not playing the same role as Season One, she's now Shax, my replacement - Crowley's replacement on Earth.

Neil: Shelley Conn came in as Beelzebub and it feels in a weird way kind of like a Doctor Who Regeneration. We have a new demon called Furfur played by Rheece Shearsmith who was our Shakespeare in Season One.

David: Nina and Maggie were two of the Sisters in Season One, The nunnery of Doom, and now they are two characters imaginatively called Nina and Maggie.

Maggie: In season one really it was just me and the nuns, it was the nun gang, so to actually get to meet Aziraphale and Crowley... I hadn't been prepared for how delightful Aziraphale is.

Neil: Season Two begins about threem four years after the events of Season One.

Michael: Aziraphale and Crowley now are, you know, out on their own, they're.. they're a team to themselves.

Neil: Everything changes when Aziraphale gets an unexpected visitor.

Michael: A familiar face comes along with a mystery that needs solving and as Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to solve that mystery they realize that there are much more terrifying things ahead than they've had to deal with in the past. That involves having to go back through history as well to get clues as to what might be going on.

David: When we go back into these stories set within Aziraphale and Crowley's personal history there are moments within those stories where where their relationships sort of pivots or develops in some way. Himself and Aziraphale I think rely on each other even more in season two than they did in Season One because they are by necessity and by circumstance they're a they're a double act that nobody else can join.

Michael: It's extraordinary to see how important these characters and this story have become to a lot of people and how much people enjoy expressing themselves through art, through fan fiction.

David: I went to a Comic-Con and the amount of Crowleys and Aziraphales that I saw everywhere, the cosplaying just took off, and always in twos, which was joyous because of course the characters in my mind only exist in relation to each other. They are the Ying and the Yang.

Michael: It's such a... I think it's such a compliment and I think Neil feels the same way as well.

Maggie: Always clever Neil Gaiman, isn't he?

Nina: Yeah yeah, you'd have to sort of admit that at some point, yeah-

Maggie: He's quite good at his job.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

i'd like to report a crime - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: anxious work stress + leon comfort!!, leon being a fucking goober Notes: when i'm at work I'm always picturing him swooping in to save me...... leon kennedy if you can hear me please protect me from 9-5 hell... and like I said before, I would LOVE requests or prompts for this fic, I have so many ideas but I can't commit to any of them lol.

Standing in the bullpen at work today, you had a thought. Maybe they called it “medieval torture” because that was a whole lot catchier than “a shitty day at the busiest police precinct in Washington DC.”

It certainly felt like medieval torture to you. Before you’d even stepped into your big girl pants this morning, you knew that today was going to suck. Plain and simple. Suck. Yet another presidential event was bringing the Secret Service’s jurisdiction into your already hectic station, meaning that big square dudes in suits were going to be breathing down your neck until quitting time. You had three huge active cases that needed your attention. One of those cases came pre-packaged with a deeply annoying lawyer, who, in your professional opinion, has his head shoved a foot up his ass. He will absolutely be showing up to bother you today.

And worst of all: in your haste to get to work (Leon had put some serious effort into making you late), you’d accidentally worn a pair of super uncomfortable shoes! So now every waking moment of your existence was bonafide torture.

Clamping your jaw, you glance up from the paperwork in front of you and check your watch. Three o’clock. Right, okay, you can work with that.

You slap your hands down on your desk as you push out of your seat, and it gets a satisfying yelp out of the man sitting cross-legged beside it. He bristles up like a porcupine and nasally complains, ���Where are you going, Detective Kennedy? You said we could—”

“Coffee, Douglas,” you bite back to said lawyer.

The last thing you want right now is some of the lousy, watered-down coffee from the station’s breakroom, but taking mini-breaks at your desk is just not an option anymore. Douglas has been camped out there from the moment you clocked in, and since you both refuse to budge, he’s going to stay there. Breakroom it is. You wince the whole way there, cursing your shoes from hell.

Someone forgot to start another pot of joe, so you have the absolute pleasure of doing it yourself. A small blessing in disguise, really. You give the glass pot your best thousand-yard-stare the whole time it heats the water, and just when the outline of it is starting to burn behind your eyelids, you’re jolted out of your glazed reverie by a cheerful, “Detective Kennedy!”

The officer appears at your side like she was there the entire time, and you wouldn’t put it past her—Giana is the latest in a long line of rookies who have imprinted on you over the years. Good kid, but a little on the overeager side.

She gives you a sympathetic frown and launches into way too much bubbly talking for your aching head to handle. “Heyo! Man, it’s crazy today, huh? You look beat, detective. Hey, think of it this way—just a few more hours and we’ll be home free! Any fun plans tonight?”

The question triggers a movie-style flashback sequence in your mind, complete with black-and-white visuals and some tasteful dream fog. Leon, your husband, boredly poking around the aisles of a new Target by your place. Leon discovering the boys' toy section. Leon, your beautiful, amazing husband, going starry-eyed at the massive NERF Elite Titan CS-50 Toy Blaster, which you’re pretty sure you need a license to operate.

He’d tapped the Nerf box like a boy on Christmas morning. “150 foam bullets, baby.”

But it would take a lot of energy to relay all of that to Giana. So instead of explaining that you’re having an epic Nerf duel with Leon when you get home (no headshots, loser makes dinner), you cooly answer: “...Spending time with my husband.”

Giana hums. “It’s so weird to me that you’re married…” (Thanks.) “I can’t even picture you not grinding away at some case.”

The coffee machine burbles out its last sad spit of coffee. You pour a good amount into your mug, smiling, “Oh, Leon’s just as bad. We’re both married to our work. He’s just my favorite mistress, s’all.”

Giana opens her mouth to launch into another cheery tirade you can’t catch up with. You like the girl, but on top of being way too eager, she’s also painfully see-through. For example, you don’t even have to turn around to know that a gloriously hot guy has just walked into the bullpen behind you. It’s written all over Giana’s owlish look over your shoulder. Hell, you can even clock that he’s heading straight this way—not only does Giana cross herself to bid away impure thoughts of the stranger, but she evaporates into smoke out of pure shyness.

“Look out!” She stage-whispers.

Aw. Poor girl, you think as she waddles away. Considering who’s going to be unloading a clip of foam bullets into you later this evening, (what a strange double entendre), you’re basically immune to hot guys. You can handle this.

“Excuse me, detective, I’d like to report a crime?”

All sense of professionalism poofs off your face at that familiar voice. You whirl to face your husband, and in one swift slash, the ten ton weight of your stress is slapped clean off your back.

Leon’s resting stare has slowly been absorbed by his Serious Agent Face. But today, he’s smoldering less in the business way and more in the off-duty model way. In a white tee, jeans, and racing-striped leather jacket, he certainly looks the part, clean-shaven and dewy-skinned. Fuck him and his unblemished skin. What Umbrella moisturizer was he using back in the day, dammit?

You’re capable of joking again and fall flawlessly into the bit. “Of course. What kind of crime, beautiful?”

He isn’t really able to look flustered, but you think you get close to the impossible with the way his head tilts at that line. You notice that he’s hiding something behind his back.

“A theft,” he answers. The tiniest smirk twitches on his mouth. “My heart’s been stolen.”

…What a fucking cornball. The tragic part is that you find the joke pretty funny, and not completely in the ironic way. He waits for you to giggle and twirl your hair or what-the-fuck-ever, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, ducking into his quick hug to grin into his shoulder.

You groan at his awful joke. “Jesus. You need a fork for all that corn, Leon?”

“I take mine off the cob,” he drawls in your ear. With that voice, he could make anything sound suggestive.

You’re about to pout at him for failing to return your hug, when you draw back and see that his hands are full. It’s then that Leon presents his bounty to you, bowing his head and holding his trophies aloft like a knight giving respect to his princess: in one hand, one of the stupid expensive coffees you like, and in the other… your comfiest work flats.

“How?” is the first thing your fish brain manages to say. Because, truly, how does he always know? The coffee, the shoes— “Did you put a tracker in me? One that tells you everything I’ve been complaining about all day?”

You go slumping down into the nearest seat, mystified by him. Leon sets the still-steaming coffee down in front of you and kneels, stooping to help you out of your shoes-from-hell. The strap around your ankle has rubbed the bone raw even through your tights. He gets the clasp loose on the first shoe with little fussing, then soothes the skin with tender brushes of his thumb.

“Mhm,” he hums. All you can see of him from this angle is the layers of color in his hair, deep browns and ash blondes blending into one another. The smug pride in his voice is obvious—he loves knowing he’s read you well. “Tells me when you’re hungry, too. Have lunch with me?”

Please god, your body begs. Just picturing it loosens some of the tension in your neck. Like last time, the two of you would play-fight over where to eat, and your cute little delivery boy would go pick up the winner. That way, you wouldn’t have to waste a single moment of your allotted thirty-minute lunch. Leon would pull up a seat at your desk (maybe scare Douglas off with a flash of his badge), and you’d get a blissful, uninterrupted dose of him. Enough to get you through the rest of your shift.

He’d be too deep in Professional Agent Mode to babble like he does at home, but Leon’s raspy chuckles and his hand on your knee would tide you over til’ five.

…But no, the universe is never that kind to you. You wince at Leon’s offer and drop an apologetic hand to his shoulder, still knelt at your feet and working on your other shoe. He’s too good to you. “M’ sorry, baby, but I think I’m gonna have to work through lunch if I wanna get home on time. Rain check?”

He doesn’t mind. He throws a squinty warning stare your way, not happy that you’re getting dangerously close to overworking yourself, but he understands.

A sly smile creeps onto Leon’s face as he helps you slip on a flat. “I could talk to your Captain. What if you were pulled away for a ‘federal emergency?’”

“Then I think me and my Captain would implode from stress,” you laugh. “He’d think I’d been drawn into some national crisis or something.”

Leon scoffs. “That’s only happened, like, once.”

The other flat welcomes your poor, aching foot like a jacuzzi hot tub, and you take a deep magical sip of the overpriced coffee he got special for you. It trumps the watery breakroom joe any day.

For a minute you’re so stupidly happy that you could easily punch a boulder clean off a cliff. Hell, you might even twirl your hair.

“One too many times!” You groan. Since he’s being all cute and kneeling at your feet, you can’t resist poking him a couple of times to be silly. In the chest. In the cheek. In the heart. Stage-whispering, you accuse, “I think you just like having excuses to work with me.”

Leon finishes helping you into your shoes, but he’s in no hurry to leave his spot. One of his rough hands finds yours in your lap and toys with your wedding band, twisting it, testing the groove where it’s been sitting for a few years now. Those big blue eyes fix on your face. You’re married to the guy, but something about being the subject of all his naked attention makes you feel like shrieking into a damn pillow. He’s the best. Judging by that mean little smile on his face, he knows it’s true.

He gives your hand a little squeeze and points out, “I was your partner before anyone else. We never got our buddy cop beat—so yes, I will shove myself into your world since I can’t pull you into mine.”

You’re grateful he still thinks that way. Getting him to talk about Raccoon is harder than pulling teeth, but this—your partnership, whether that be as cops in an imaginary second life, or as husband and wife—never fails to pry him right open.

You’d been asked before if it was frustrating, how your paths had split after the city had blown. The two of you had come from the same spot and endured the same things, but where Leon had soared up, you’d kept to what you knew. No part of you envied him for it. In his mind, the two of you were still the same unit you’d been then, endlessly loyal to one another. You watched Leon’s back and—clearly, he watched yours.

“You’re my favorite,” you tell him, sweetly petting his chin. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you at our Nerf duel when I get home.”

All the buttery tenderness wipes from his face, and in an instant he’s on his feet, clapping a scarred hand down onto your shoulder and bending to whisper fiercely in your ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

He smushes a kiss to your cheek, waves a friendly, “See ya,” and melts back into the current of the rowdy bullpen. You hate to see him leave, but by god, you love to watch him go.

A few seconds after Leon says his goodbye, Giana, your rookie, peers around the open door of the break room. Her patchy blush goes all the way down to her uniform collar. “...Nevermind. I can definitely picture you married, Detective Kennedy…”

-

Ask to be added to my Leon taglist!

[prettyyoungandbored]

Crushes [’You and I’ Side Story]

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x Female Reader

Author’s Note: Takes place before the events of “You and I.” I was driving through Hollywood and saw a cute couple that reminded me of these two. So thank you, random strangers.

Nikki exhaled as he closed the door behind him. He was relieved to be home after a somewhat mediocre gig.

London was slowly but surely losing its edge. He could feel it and mentally, he was preparing himself for the eventual breakup.

He made his way into the bedroom, setting down his bass. His head turned to see Y/N curled up in bed, hugging his pillow. He smiled, throwing off his shirt.

He knew she felt bad that she couldn’t make it to the show. She worked a double at the diner for the second time that week, exhausting her. He told her there would be other shows. He wasn’t so sure now, but either way her rest was more important.

His pants hit the floor and he kicked it away. He lifted the blanket and crawled under the covers. He threw an arm around her waist, moving his body closer to hers.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard whimpering.

Her whimpering.

He opened his eyes, hoping she was having a sexual dream. But then he noticed the scrunching in her face and realized he needed to step in. He leaned up and gently shook her.

“Babe, babe, babe,” he coaxed her.

Her eyes shot open as she let out a sharp gasp. Her hand was on her chest and he moved closer to her, putting his hand on hers.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he soothed her. “Babe, look at me,”

She turned her head to him as he pulled her into his arms.

“You’re ok,” he assured her, kissing her forehead. “You’re safe.”

She let out a final sigh. “Fuck.”

“Bad dream?”

“That’s putting it lightly. One of the scariest dreams I’ve had in a long time.”

She leaned back onto the pillow, the palm of her hand rubbing her eyes as if that would take away the memories of her dream.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers carding through her hair. “It’s over and you’re safe. I promise.”

She looked over at him, flashing a small but grateful smile. She moved her body to him, snuggling her face into his chest and letting the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and Jack Daniel’s soothe her.

He smirked. “I can think of one way to get your mind off it.”

He leaned his head down to see her smirking back at him. “Nice try, Sixx.”

He chuckled as he kissed the top of her head again. “Worth trying.”

She hummed in agreement. If she had woken up on her own without a nightmare, maybe.

“How was your gig?” she asked.

“Eh, it was a gig,” he replied with a shrug. “We were good. The band before us fucking sucked though. They were a bunch of KISS wannabes which made it worse.”

“You don’t like KISS?”

“I thought they were cool when I was a kid, but they didn’t stick with me like other bands did.” He glanced down at her. “What about you?”

“I had a big KISS phase.”

He paused. “That…somehow does not surprise me. Did Gene Simmons’ tongue do it for you?”

“No, but Paul Stanley did.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Really?”

She looked up at him. “You judging me, Sixx?”

“A little, yeah,” he snorted. “I wouldn’t have taken you to as a lead singer kind of girl.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I actually find other musicians who play other instruments in other bands attractive.”

A pang of jealousy hit Nikki, but he wasn’t going to show it. Instead, he smirked. “Oh yeah? Name ‘em.”

She propped up on her elbow, her eyes meeting his. “Eddie Van Halen, guitarist. You should know that considering I told you that I lost my virginity to a Van Halen song.”

Nikki made a face. “Yeah, I sorta pushed that out of my mind because I don’t like hearing there were others before me.”

“There was only one, Mr. Possessive,” she reminded him, poking his nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Ok, Van Halen is fine. Who else is there? You’re forgetting a big one.”

“I am?” she questioned. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh yeah!”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Drummer!”

Nikki’s face fell. “That’s not-.”

“Roger Taylor from Queen.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “So those are your choices? Paul Stanley, Eddie Van Halen, and Roger Taylor? You sure you’re not missing any other key band members you find attractive?”

She thought for a moment. “Ok so there is a bassist.”

“But it’s not Gene Simmons.”

“It’s not Gene Simmons.”

“Ok,” he nodded. “Tell me more.”

She rest her chin on his chest, sighing dramatically. “I don’t know if you know him.”

He knew damn well where this going, but he was down to play her game. “I might.”

“He plays for this band London.”

He chuckled. “London…yeah, I’ve heard of ‘em.”

“So he’s super sexy.”

“Super sexy? Sexier than the men on your list?”

“Definitely.”

“Ooh. Ok, go on.”

“He plays like a god. Like his talent is incredible.” She snuggled close. “He has impeccable stage presence.”

“Impeccable?! That’s some high praise, princess. What else?”

“He’s got black hair. Gorgeous eyes.”

He hummed. “Gorgeous you say?”

She nodded. “He’s also really good at comforting a girl after a nightmare.”

His jaw dropped, slapping his hand on his chest. “It’s me?”

“Surprise!” she giggled.

He leaned his head back. “Wow! I don’t know what to say. I didn’t see it coming.”

She laughed, burying her face in his chest.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Out of all those crushes, which one do you like the most?”

She snorted and lifted her head up. “Who do you think?”

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“Do you need me to stroke your ego some more?”

“So it is me?!”

She rolled her eyes as he threw his head back laughing. “You’re lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Obviously you do since you have a crush on me,” he reminded her. “So embarrassing.”

She pulled her lips back. “We live together, dumbass.”

He kissed her nose. “For what it’s worth, I have a crush on you too.”

She hummed. “And how many other crushes do you have?”

“Just one. You. You’re it for me.”

“Until you become a big rockstar and then have groupies.”

“Nope. I’m always gonna have a crush on you.”

She snorted. “Yeah, ok then.”

His smile quickly fell flat as his dark eyes softened. “Hey, I’m serious. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

The sincerity in his tone lifted warmed Y/N’s heart. She always knew he was serious about her, but every now and again, she needed a reminder that he loved her even if he couldn’t outright say it.

It was an issue she knew she would have to work on.

“And Y/N? I’m never going to let anything happen to you. I promise you’re safe with me.”

She pecked his lips before snuggling back into his chest. “I know. And I know you know you’re safe with me.”

His hand rubbed her back soothingly. “I know.”

[videogamesincolor]

Brodie and the role of determination in "Still Wakes the Deep"

From the start, Still Wakes the Deep depicts Brodie as one of the more clear-headed characters after the Beria D is, effectively, attacked by the entity. Granted, if you're working on an oil rig, you (probably) have to be a certain person to work under high-stress conditions. As the apparent diver on the Beria (and senior figure, after Roper, Innes, Trots, Finlay, and Rennick) Brodie is probably accustomed to working under pressure (literally and figuratively).

Brodie operates under the pretense of what my former supervisor called, "positive reinforcement". Highlight a person's strengths, and address their weaknesses as "areas for improvement". Hence why he gets annoyed with Caz when he heightens Rafferty's anxieties about going down in the diving bell with his own personal fears.

Folks like Douglas and Rafferty look to him to know what to do, so Brodie takes it as a personal failing when someone is harmed under his charge. When Gregor and Caz fall into the water, he's the one who goes in after them. And given the height both fell from, by the time he was prepared to dive, he shouldn't have been able to find either, but he gets lucky with Caz.

Of the survivors, Brodie is together enough to send Finlay down to restart the generators as they're cutting out and sends Caz to reach the surviving radios (initially). Even when preoccupied with another situation, Brodie was forward-thinking enough to consider mitigating the broader damage on the Rig.

When a panicky Caz, probably to his surprise, completes what he sent Finlay to do, he reorients Caz (by hyping him up a little) and asks him to help with tension wenches in the Pontoons. Whatever reservations he might have about Caz's anxieties, Brodie appreciates that he's willing to throw himself into certain danger to help.

Brodie's determination to save the Rig, perhaps to save themselves (because there was no way to physically leave the rig without transportation) was such a gripping story beat to watch play out between himself and Finlay.

Way before Caz gets himself out of the pontoons and encounters a mutated O'Connor, they're talking to (or at) each other in notes. Brodie operates like the situation is another high-stakes circumstance that he (as a diver) must be accustomed to. Process of elimination.

He is pushing to save the Rig, but only long enough for rescue. But his initial plans fail. The surviving radios don't work, so they can't reach the support ship. Most of the Rig is collapsing and flooding from the damage. Stabilizing the tension wenches leaves the Rig vulnerable to sinking. The tone of Finlay's notes suggests they should focus more on leaving the Rig altogether, instead of hailing the support ship. (Again, the issue with that being, of course, that there's nothing sea-worthy left on the Rig to even float on.)

And she's already speculating at the entity's intentions after seeing so many of their coworkers die, transform, or become gore on the walls. Brodie, however, isn't particularly curious about the entity beyond seeing it as an (environmental) obstacle. Stabilizing the flare stack prevents explosion, but he initially believes it was at the expense of Caz's life.

Brodie could be motivated by what happened to Raffs in the diving bell. I can't imagine seeing someone under your charge explode into a hostile lump of tentacles and inhumanity would leave you anything but determined to save as many people as you can, bad odds be damned.

And in that dynamic, the person delaying what's inevitable really can't stop the person who's decided about what they'll do. And, for me, that's interesting, as Brodie and Finlay were both kinda positioned in the story to be 'dependable' and 'pragmatic' in the face of terror.

Both of them try to sway Caz from going after Roy, but relent, knowing he won't be any good to them with his mind elsewhere except in the priority situation (the tension wenches).

(One of the last bits of advice he gives to Caz when they're face-to-face is to make his every move count, and not panic when he goes underwater.)

In most circumstances, I would've expected Finlay and Brodie's roles to be reversed. So, that Finlay was the one to just accept that they were all doomed after a certain point, was nice.

Brodie's willingness to venture into certain danger and death ultimately seals fates and is catalyst enough to push Finlay to do what she'd been thinking about since their exchanges. Caz is convinced of Brodie's own "jamminess", that he believes he can get out of the oil-flooded pontoon to return to them, and if he can't, he has him to rely on. Brodie knows otherwise, and, so, home (Isle of Skye) is the last thing he thinks of before imploring the others to escape.

I don't know if the Isle of Skye is considered a "harbor town", but Brodie's apparent comfort in and underwater struck me as a connection to his home. That he dies, drowning in oil, feels like a cruel irony of circumstances.

On a more personal level, given that Scottish / English / Irish narratives trend towards whiteness (and are often loaded with weird "racial purity" undertones), I wasn't expecting Still Wakes the Deep to have any significant characters of color in the game. That Brodie is the only Black character in the game with a major speaking and narrative role within the narrative (and voiced by a Black actor, thankfully) is a double-edged sword.

It's a) par for the course (and disappointing), but also b) nice to see a predominantly white narrative acknowledge Black Scotsmen exist. Sunil (Scottish) and Dobbie (Irish) are two other Black/Brown characters with lines, but they're minor characters (both killed by a mutated Muir on the Derrick).

Throughout the multiple playthroughs I've watched since SWTD was released, I've always found it extremely baffling that most (white) players assumed malice on Brodie's part when he's surprised to see Caz survive the collapse of the skywalk connecting to the stack.

He's clearly relieved to see his friend alive, but most were like, "Was he trying to kill Caz?" And it's like, how the hell did y'all come to that conclusion?

And if I were to speculate about the entity's intentions, it wouldn't be much interested in going anywhere except back down below. The potential threat that was the Rig, is no longer a danger to its existence. Hence why everything it pulled apart and invaded, was gradually sinking under the water.

[billy-cockblock]

I wrote a little thing inspired by @saintalondre's swtd afterlife au, before they'd posted more info about it, so this doesn't really fit in their au at all, but I had fun.

Gibbo hated the water tanks. 

But Addair was busy in engineering today, and he was the easiest to push the task of fixing a leak onto. It shouldn’t be a difficult job, just tedious to find the source that was causing all the flooding. 

He thinks that’s why they assigned Douglas to come down with him and help. Got him somewhere in the belly of the rig and away from the sea below. Poor guy needed something to take his mind off yesterday’s… incident. Gibbo’s heart dropped every time he thought about what happened, and he wasn’t even the one to pull Caz out. Douglas had hardly said a word since Rennick had taken the situation over and shipped the body back to the mainland. They’d been told to “avoid spreading rumors around the crew” and he’d completely shut down. Still, despite their boss’s attempts to cover up the incident, word of their missing crewmates had spread. The mood over the whole rig had doured after that morning. Dobbie and Trots had to make yesterday’s lunch, and when Roy had returned, dinner and breakfast tasted flavorless. 

Bringing himself back to the present, Gibbo stepped into the flooded water tank room. It was up to his knees, but shouldn’t get any higher that he couldn’t wade through it. 

“Right, this shouldn’t be hard,” he said, turning to face Douglas wading in behind him. “All we have to do is follow the water pipes. If you find the leak, call me over so I can patch it, aye?” Douglas nodded absentmindedly, eyes still distant like his mind was somewhere else. “Hey,” Gibbo put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, snapping him out of his trance with a start. “Let’s just focus on patching the leak, okay lad? Water’s cold, and we’ll lose our toes if we take too long.”

“A-aye,” Douglas looked away again. “Water’s real cold.”

“How about you start looking that way, and I’ll go this way, eh?” Gibbo pointed towards opposite sides of the room. “We’ll get done here and get to warm up twice as fast. Just keep an ear out for flowing water and look for the source.”

Without a word, Douglas just nodded and turned to go the way he was told. Gibbo watched him for a moment before sighing, trudging his own way. 

He’d only been searching for a few minutes when things started to get strange. He heard a metallic bang from the walkway and jumped. Finding a gap through the tanks and pipes, he saw the door of the locker hanging open. The water at the bottom of the stairs was rippling like someone had just passed through it and walked out of sight.

“Douglas?” he shouted, checking on his coworker.

“Aye?” Douglas responded, coming from the opposite side of the room as the sound.

“You hear that?” While he wasn’t moving, Gibbo could hear the quiet sounds of something sloshing through the water past the pipes around him.

“No? Hear what?”

“Hello?” Gibbo called out. “Anyone else is in here?” He listened closely to track the sounds, but every quiet noise echoed in the enclosed space. He started walking slowly to try and pinpoint their location. “If you’re trying to joke, it’s not very funny.”

The sloshing, drips, and creaks blended together, seemingly coming from several directions at once. As he wandered, Gibbo also picked up on the sound of breathing. It was shaky and muffled, like someone was trying to be quiet but too nervous to slow their breaths.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Aren’t you cold? You sound like you’re shivering.”

He’d been passing by a row of tanks when he heard a splash right on the other side.

“I’m not looking, I promise,” a small voice whispered, small and terrified. They sounded familiar somehow, but Gibbo couldn’t place it.

They started walking away where Gibbo’s path ended, and he’d have to go the long way around if he were to get to the main tanks where they were headed. He crouched down to see if he could see them under the tanks, soaking himself up to his waist, but only caught a hint of a blue uniform through the shadows before it disappeared around a corner.

“Douglas, meet me by the main tanks,” he called across the room.

“Uh, okay.”

He hurried through the pipes until he reached the raised walkway by the tanks. The stranger wasn’t there, but there was a trail of water and he could hear the metal rattling of a ladder. He hurried around the corner and only caught a blur of boots as they climbed over the top.

“Oi! Get down from there!” he yelled, climbing up after them. The top of the main tanks was fenced off and the only way to go was into the tanks themselves. They may have been mostly drained to prevent more flooding, but they could still be extremely dangerous. 

He only saw the top of their hardhat as they descended through the hatch, causing him to scramble the last way up.

“Wait!” He rushed to the edge to stop them, but they were already too far down the ladder. They looked up at him, blinding him with their torch as their grip loosened in surprise. With no warning, the hatch moved on its own and slammed shut, nearly taking Gibbo’s hand with it and locking itself. 

“Shit!” he cursed, gripping the wheel to open it, but it refused to budge. No matter how much force he put behind it, it wouldn’t twist. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas asked from behind him, startling him so bad he screamed. 

“Don’t do that, Douglas! How’d you get up here so quietly?!”

“What are you-“

“No… No!” The voice cried out, echoing out of the second tank. They looked over and saw the second hatch open, allowing sound to escape. 

“Douglas…?” The voice sounded farther away than it should be. It had an odd quality to it, like the whistling of the gales in the outer rooms of the derrick, or the sound of waves from the middle of the deck. Like holding a phone away from your ear but having it still close enough to hear a caller’s voice. “Douglas!” They continued muttering to themself, too quiet to be understood through the echoing and strange effects. 

Gibbo turned to ask Douglas a question, but his words were lost when he saw his face. It was ashen with dread and he looked like he would vomit. 

Douglas pushed past him to get to the hatch, twisting the wheel open with ease. 

“Hey! What are you-!“ The hatch was already open and Douglas practically sliding down the ladder. He at least felt relieved seeing the water so low, but he still hated the idea of anyone going in there. 

Douglas disappeared from view, heading towards the connecting space between tanks. Gibbo almost reached for the ladder himself, but hesitated. 

“Douglas, get back here!” he whisper-shouted into the dark, keeping an eye on the other hatch and the stilling water below. There was no reply other than fading sloshing sounds.

After what felt like far too long, a familiar knit hat emerged from the opposite hatch, looking around wildly.

“Where’d he go?!” Douglas asked, voice frantic. “Did you see him?”

“Calm down, lad,” Gibbo tried to reassure. “No one’s come out of there other than you. You sure the guy isn’t still in there?”

“I-I don’t think so, but it’s so dark…” he was starting to break down; Gibbo figured it was the stress of yesterday catching up to him. “I heard him, I know it was him…”

“I have a torch,” Gibbo said, reaching into his pocket where it was located. Douglas didn’t seem to hear him, forcing Gibbo to make up his mind. “Alright, lad, stay there. I’ll check the tank and meet you up there. Don’t move, alright?” He waited for Douglas to nod before shakily grabbing the ladder.

He hated the water tanks. He was vehemently reminded of that fact as he landed in water up to his knees. It was as cold as the water filling the outside room, but the solid, enclosed walls made it so much darker and easier to flood if someone were to forget he was in there. 

He shined the torch around the first main tank, going as far as to look up the walls. No sign of the mystery man in here, but he couldn’t shake the childish fear of something lurking in the dark. 

That meant he had to do his least favorite part…

Coming up to the connection between the tanks, he had to turn sideways, squeezing into the narrow gap. He wasn’t the smallest man, so the fit was very tight. He hated having to do maintenance inside the tanks, he hated the dark, he hated the tight fit, he hated the water-

He just hated the water tanks.

He was eventually released, coming out on the other side with a relieved sigh. He pointed his torch at the dark corners and-

His light shut off, plunging him into darkness. 

His whole body tensed and his breathing picked up. He quickly flicked it on and off again, trying to get it to come back with no luck. He shook and smacked it, only succeeding to get it to flicker rapidly. 

He spun around, pointing the blinking light behind him, in the corners, and all around, searching for beasts lurking in the dark, making his anxiety worse. 

He pushed through the water towards the ladder, wanting to get out as quick as possible, when he froze solid, his heart dropping to his stomach.

At the base of the ladder, his light caught an orange uniform floating just under the surface. The light flickered and he noticed the body’s dark skin. It flashed and he caught his grey knit cap-

The torch died again, and in the low light filtering in from the hatch, the body was gone. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas called down from above. “Is he down there?”

“N-no!” Gibbo finally managed to stutter out, trying to shake the panic off. It had just been his mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. “He-he must’ve snuck past me somehow. I’m coming up!”

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten up a ladder faster in his whole career working on rigs. Douglas seemed to have calmed down a bit, still occasionally wiping his eyes. 

“He didn’t come this way either,” Douglas said. “How’d he get past?”

“I don’t know,” Gibbo replied. “He must’ve slipped out while I wasn’t looking.” He looked over the tank room, looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. “Who was he, anyway?”

“What?” 

“You said you knew who he was and it got you in a right state, so who was it?”

“Ah,” Douglas hesitated. “I must’ve just imagined it, it couldn’t have been-“

A slam echoed through the room, making both men jump. It sounded like the hatch door up the stairs to Accommodation. 

“Well, sounds like he got through okay,” Gibbo joked, trying to shake off the tension. “But who’d you think-“

“Is that the leak?” Douglas interrupted him, pointing to something in the half of the tank room they hadn’t searched. Sure enough, Gibbo spotted the junction between pipes where a steady stream of water was leaking out. 

Gibbo sighed. “Aye, that’s it. Good job, lad.”

[clown-friend-gt]

Up, Up, and Away Chapter 20

Sorry for the late update this week. It will happen again.

Edit because I forgot to add that this is part of the updated version of Mentorship Blues

Link to Masterpost

************************************************************************

Evaluation

3.3k words

From the periphery of his vision, Sam Douglas counted at least a dozen gazes fixed on him. Some of awe, some even of admiration, and quite a few of hostility. But like always, he simply kept his head level, and his eyes set straight ahead. It was a strategy for keeping himself humble he’d learned early on in his career, and it hadn’t failed him yet.

This sort of thing was bound to happen whenever he went out dressed as his hero persona, Ajax. But it was for a good cause. He hoped. He’d been invited to this prison by some people close to him to participate in a mentorship program.

Not a prison, he reminded himself. Youth detention center.

As he got closer to his destination, he found himself surrounded by fewer and fewer people. Once he was practically alone, he took a deep breath to steady himself, allowing his mask of confidence to drop temporarily.

Was he really the right person for this? From what he’d been told, his judgement of the kid he was meeting today would be a deciding factor as to whether or not he qualified for the Future Heroes Training Program. It was practically a parole hearing, and he was to be the judge.

Maybe he would be a qualified mentor for the kid, since they had similar enough powers. But did that qualify him to make calls about his future? Sam really wasn’t sure.

He shook himself a little to regain his focus. He couldn’t spend all his time worrying about that, or he’d never get this over with. He let the self-assured mask of “Ajax” slip back over his features.

A few more turns through the wide and winding hallways and he was at his destination. A set of double doors was all that stood between him and his arena of choice for the day. Really though, it was just the facility’s cafeteria. Technicalities.

He centered himself with a deep breath and gave both doors a gentle push. Despite the lack of effort on his part, the doors flung open. It had been decades since he developed his powers of super strength, but sometimes the world around him still felt far too flimsy.

At least he rarely broke things nowadays.

“Have no fear,” he declared in a booming voice. “Ajax is here!”

He grinned widely at the room as the doors swung shut behind him, hands placed heroically on his hips. He got no response, save for a few vacant stares from around the room. The silence that followed felt like it lasted way too long.

Slowly, people got back to what they were doing. Guards worked to clear space, pushing all of the tables and chairs to the sides of the room. A few floated around one man in the center of the room, waiting for further direction from him. This man’s stare had felt the hardest when Sam entered the room.

Unbothered, Sam made his way over to him. He stuck out his hand to shake the warden’s. The warden gave it a brief glance before taking it. His grip felt firm, but cautious.

“Nice to see you again, Al,” Sam greeted his brother.

The warden, Albert Douglas, let go of his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Hello, Ajax,” he responded, his tone much less familiar. “I see you haven’t lost your—”

Al paused, giving him a disapproving look.

“—dramatic flair,” he finished dryly.

Sam kept his face neutral, trying not to show his discomfort at his older brother’s cold demeanor. He’d thought they’d grown beyond the contentious relationship they’d had as kids. But sometimes, Al still kept him at arm’s length.

He supposed he couldn’t really blame him, though. They were not meeting here today as brothers, but as two high level members of the Lively Institute. Even though they represented two different sides of the Enforcement division, they still had to maintain appearances.

That’s probably what Al was thinking, at least. Sam didn’t really give a damn if some random prison guard thought he was being “unprofessional.”

Al turned back to the guards hovering around him. “What are you still waiting around for? If you’ve finished up here, go back to your posts.”

A small chorus of yes sir resounded from the remaining guards as they filtered off and out of the room. Sam was quickly left alone with his brother.

Albert’s features were incredibly similar to his own, though there were some superficial differences between them. There were more lines on his tanned face, but that likely had more to do with the stress of his job than the two years he had on Sam. They shared the same icy blue eyes, but Albert’s gaze was colder than his own. His cropped gray hair held few traces of the dark black color it’d once had. Sam wondered if his own hair would look the same, once the stray white hairs that kept cropping up on his head took over completely.

If you were to stand Sam and his brother side by side, you wouldn’t be able to tell from his height that he was the younger of the two. Though they were both fairly tall, he had a few inches on his brother. His broad, muscular frame only exacerbated the difference between him and Al.

Al cleared his throat, pulling Sam from his thoughts. “How much have you been briefed about Castillo?”

Sam shrugged. “Just the basics. Name: Trevor Castillo. Age: 14. Height: freakishly tall. Normal stuff, really.”

“You need to take this seriously, Sam” Al scolded him, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re dealing with a violent criminal, here.”

Sam smirked. “Same old, then.”

“I’m trying to warn you, Castillo is unstable,” his brother asserted, his voice low. “He injured another inmate within his first week of arrival. His victim’s wrist was completely shattered.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sam whispered back. “Shouldn’t I try to be unbiased about this?”

“I’m only trying to look out for you,” Al insisted. “You need to be careful here.”

Sam puffed out his chest a little. “When am I not?”

Al gave him a dry look. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Sam had to laugh at that. “Alright, fine. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The sound of the cafeteria door opening again put a halt to their conversation. Both Sam and his brother turned to see the new arrival. When he saw who it was, he greeted her with a warm smile.

Miranda Todd was a close family friend to both of them. But to Sam, she was more than that, almost like a cousin, or even a sister, albeit a much, much younger one. She was nearly a decade his junior.

She returned his smile politely as she approached the two of them, but Sam could sense the nervousness behind it. She had a lot riding on the outcome of this meeting. Which meant, of course, she had a lot riding on his evaluation of her client.

He knew Miranda was deeply passionate about her work, and this case was no exception. He’d seen the fire in her eyes when she’d first discussed her new client with him when they met up for drinks. She felt the system had wronged him, but if she could get him into the Heroes Program, she could make things right.

Sam wasn’t sure how much he bought into that. But when it came to people’s character, Miranda’s judgement was rarely wrong. If she had faith in this kid, then he at least had to give him a chance to prove himself.

Before Sam could say anything to her, she spoke up, only addressing the warden.

“Are we almost ready to begin?”

Sam frowned a little. She was almost ignoring him. After a moment, though, he remembered that he was in uniform. He was not her friend Sam right now, but the famous superhero, Ajax.

And she and Ajax have nothing to do with each other, he reminded himself, just a tad bitter about the whole idea.

That was the problem with this whole hero business. Everyone wanted to put him on some kind of pedestal (everyone who didn’t want him dead, that is). He could ignore it when strangers did it, but his own friends and family? He’d never found a good way to deal with it.

“Just about,” Al responded to Miranda’s question. Then he clapped his hands twice, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“Beckham, O’Brian, you’re with me,” he said, gesturing to two of the guards as he spoke. Then to everyone else, “The rest of you, get back to work.”

He clapped his hands together again, and the sound echoed throughout the room. “Move out!” he ordered.

Quickly and efficiently, his guards filed out of the room. Looking out of place amongst them all, Miranda followed soon after. She spared him one last anxious look before she left. The warden lingered behind just a minute longer.

“We’ll be watching from Security. If anything happens, I’ll send reinforcements your way,” his brother assured him.

Sam wanted so badly to roll his eyes, but he resisted the urge. He was probably the most capable person in the world to handle this situation, and still Albert treated him like he was a kid in need of protection.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he replied, not bothering to hide the agitation in his voice.

Al ignored his brother’s insolent tone, giving him a curt nod. Then he walked out of the room, leaving Sam all alone until his new student arrived.

************************************************************************

Trevor could hardly remember the last time he’d been this nervous. When was the last time he’d had to do anything this important? As far as he knew, his whole future rested on how he presented himself to his would-be mentor, Ajax.

Ajax. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around how insane all of this was. Not only was he meeting the most famous—and probably most important—man in San Solaris, but he had to impress him somehow. His life practically depended on it.

His heart hammered in his chest and his back ached in protest as he shuffled his way towards the cafeteria. He had to bend over to fit in the hallways now. When he first arrived, he’d actually been relieved to find out that the ceilings were high enough for him to stand at his full height. He should’ve known that it wouldn’t last.

Finally, he rounded the last corner, and the double doors to the cafeteria stood at the end of the hall. But when he got about halfway there, he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. His legs refused to budge.

Pull it together, Castillo, he berated himself. He’d been working for months to make this happen. This was the last hurdle he had to clear before he could join the FHTP. He couldn’t turn back now just because he was feeling a little intimidated. He did his best to shove all of his feelings of anxiety deep down inside.

He took a reluctant step forward. Then another. He trudged, painfully slow, to the doors. He did his best to wipe the sweat from his palms, then gingerly pushed the doors open. He focused all of his attention on making his way through the doors, so he didn’t have to think about who was waiting for him behind them.

Once he’d crawled through, he stood up straight and stretched out, trying to relieve his sore back. He silently thanked whoever’d designed the cafeteria with such high ceilings. Then he remembered what he’d come here for and immediately snapped back to attention.

Ajax stood in the middle of the room. He wore the same iconic suit that Trevor had seen countless times on TV and the internet. The base was a short-sleeved black bodysuit with blue stripes running up either side. On his elbows, knuckles, and knees, he wore dark blue armor-like pads. On his hands he wore fingerless gloves. A black domino mask covered his face and completed the look.

For a moment, Ajax also seemed too stunned to speak. His eyes were wide as they travelled the length of his body up to his face. His rigid posture mirrored Trevor’s own. They both stood frozen for just a few seconds.

Ajax recovered before he did. He shook his head and relaxed his shoulders. The surprised look on his face didn’t quite disappear, though.

“Man,” he chuckled. “You are tall.”

“Uh…?” Trevor responded, bewildered.

“I mean, they told me you were twenty feet tall, but I don’t think I got the full picture until just now.”

Ajax smiled at him and gestured for him to come closer. “Come on in, I promise I won’t bite.”

Hesitantly, Trevor walked closer. Once he was close enough, Ajax extended his hand up for him to shake and grinned wider. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“The name’s Ajax,” he declared.

For a moment, Trevor only stared at his hand. Ajax barely stood above his knee; how was he expecting this to work? He looked back to Ajax’s face, questioning him silently. He only cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at his extended hand.

Sighing internally, Trevor crouched down so he could reach it. He clasped Ajax’s hand, and it disappeared entirely within his own. He became painfully aware of how sweaty his palms were as he delicately shook Ajax’s hand.

“Trevor,” he introduced himself, before quickly letting it go.

Ajax nodded, his lips pressed into a thin smile. “Good to meet you.”

Trevor stood back up and took a few steps back. He thought he saw Ajax try to discreetly wipe his hand on his leg as he did so. But then Ajax clasped his hands behind his back and began circling around him. He looked him up and down, like he was examining him in detail.

Again Trevor froze under Ajax’s scrutiny. Unconsciously, he went rigid and straightened himself out as best he could. From this angle, he couldn’t read the look on his face.

“What to do, what to do,” he heard Ajax mutter. Then he stopped, apparently in thought.

“Could work,” he said under his breath, before looking to the door to the cafeteria.

“Wait here,” he told Trevor.

Ajax walked over to one of the long tables that lay against the wall. He picked it up easily, though it was longer than he was tall. He carried it over to the set of doors and placed it in front of them.

“What are you doing that for?” Trevor asked uneasily.

“Just a precaution,” Ajax answered him, though he didn’t clarify what that meant.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Ajax announced. He waved Trevor over to the middle of the room. There he stood and opened his arms wide.

“Let’s see what you can do,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can,” Ajax instructed him.

Trevor tensed. He should’ve expected something like this to happen, but he still hated the thought of it.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.

Ajax grinned at him. This time, it felt more genuine. “Come on. I can take it.”

“There’s got to be something else we can do,” he pleaded.

“Nope. This is the only way,” Ajax replied with a shake of his head.

“If you say so…” Trevor replied wearily.

He lowered himself down closer to Ajax’s level and reluctantly balled his hands into fists. As he drew his hand back to strike, he gave him one last uncertain look, silently begging him to reconsider. Ajax stubbornly stayed put.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Trevor swung his fist with all his might. He felt it connect only briefly. Then he heard a loud SMACK from the other end of the room.

Opening his eyes again, the first thing he saw was a crack in the concrete wall that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Then his eyes travelled down and landed on Ajax. He was lying facedown on the ground, motionless.

Sam had taken a few beatings in his time. Still, he struggled to remember the last time he had been walloped like that. That one punch had sent him flying across the room. Maybe Al had been right to warn him about this kid. Or maybe he was just getting old.

He propped himself up with a groan. He was still regaining his bearings after the blow. Slowly, he got to his knees and prepared to stand. Before he could though, he felt the ground rattling beneath him, and he had to fight to keep from falling on his face again.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” he heard Trevor cry out.

When the shaking stopped, he looked up to see Trevor kneeling over him. Sam almost laughed out loud at the panicked look on his face. Once again, Miranda had made the correct call; this kid was a total softy.

“Man, kid, you really pack a punch!” he said with a weak laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor murmured sheepishly, extending a hand to help him up.

Sam took it gratefully. “Don’t be. You did good.”

He got to his feet and brushed himself off. As usual, with a bit of time to recover, it was like he’d never been hit at all. He spread his arms out to show Trevor he was unharmed.

“See? Told you I’d be fine,” he said beaming up at him.

Suddenly there was a commotion from the other side of the cafeteria doors. They clattered loudly as someone on the other side attempted to force their way in. That would be his brother bringing the cavalry. He rolled his eyes.

“Looks like our time is up,” he said sarcastically. Realistically, they should have had plenty of time left, but the warden’s arrival would cut that short.

He saw Trevor’s brow crease in worry as he stared at the doors.

“Hey, it was nice meeting you,” he said, bringing Trevor’s attention back to him. “I’ll put in a good word for you with the higher ups.”

Trevor’s mouth opened in shock. “Wha—seriously?”

He nodded.

“Just like that?” Trevor asked in disbelief.

“Just like that,” he confirmed.

Trevor shook his head, at a loss for words.

“Thank you so much,” he said sincerely.

“Don’t mention it,” Ajax assured him.

There was shouting from the other side of the doors, but Trevor couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. It sounded bad.

Just as casually as he had before, Ajax strolled over to the doors and moved his barricade out of the way. He took a few steps back, allowing the warden and his guards to burst in. Warden Douglas glared hatefully at Trevor, sending a shiver down his spine.

“You,” he spat venomously.

He started to advance towards him, but to Trevor’s surprise, Ajax stopped him in place.

“Calm down Al,” he told the warden. “I had everything under control.”

Douglas tore his eyes away from Trevor and looked at Ajax. They seemed to be having some kind of silent argument. The guards the warden had brought shuffled behind him, armed with a mix of batons and pepper spray. They seemed anxious to act, but unsure of what to do without orders.

Eventually, the Warden sighed loudly. “Everyone, stand down and go back to work.”

The guards exchanged looks among themselves, seemingly hesitant. One by one, though, they holstered their weapons and left the room.

With all of his guards gone, Warden Douglas scowled at Ajax. “Will you let me go?!”

“Of course,” Ajax answered coolly, releasing him.

The warden stumbled forward slightly. Then he stood up straight again and straightened out the suit he was wearing. He shot disapproving looks at both of them.

“Are we done here?” Ajax asked innocently.

“For now,” Douglas said coldly. “We’ll have more to talk about later.”

Trevor had to wonder what that meant. Ajax had called the warden by his first name. Did they know each other somehow?

Seemingly unbothered by the warden’s posturing, Ajax shrugged and headed for the doors. Just as he was about to leave, he sent Trevor a wink over his shoulder.

“See you soon, kid.”

And then he was gone.

First/Previous/Next

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Eight

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Loneliness, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

A/N: More tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Thank you, Saint Kendall @strawberrystepmom for being my beta for this chapter and rescuing me from the insanity of looking at the same draft over and over again. 💙💙💙

Summary:

Everything, she thinks absently, the feeling behind the thought so strong that for a moment she worries she has actually spoken it aloud. If you asked me for everything right now, Suguru… I would give it to you without question.

Suguru, for his part, can’t help but to take all that she’s offering him. The clock in his head is winding down, keeping him cognizant of how much more he can drink from her without putting her in danger.

He is lamenting every second that brings him closer to the point where he has to stop. He knows that the stronger his feelings are for the person he’s feeding on, the sweeter the blood.

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter Warnings: Biting, blood drinking, fondling

Chapter Eight: To Bloom Under Moonlight

One drop of midnight in the dawn of life’s pulsating stream Marks her an alien from her kind, a shade amid its gleam. Forevermore her step she bends, insular, strange, apart-- And one can read the riddle of her strangely warring heart. -Georgia Douglas Johnson, The Octoroon

--

I wanted to be loved for something. I wanted… to be useful, to be needed, to be happy in knowing I was finally doing something worthwhile. 

I want you to have this. 

I want to be useful to you. 

The thoughts are her own, but they feel distant and faint. Her eyes are on the ceiling, staring up at the muted yellow lamplight coming through the pretty fixtures in Suguru’s bedroom. 

They’d moved there at his suggestion. “Are you trying to seduce me?” Lia had asked, half-jokingly. 

“Only if you want to be seduced,” Suguru had answered. And though he’d offered her a teasing grin, there was something in the tone of his voice that suggested he would oblige her if being seduced by him was what she was aiming for. 

For now, he is taking his time treating himself to the taste of her skin, and it reminds her just how long it’s been since anyone has touched her in an intimate way… and just how long prior to him anyone had touched her at all. He isn’t exactly delicate in the way he’s kissing and nipping at her neck, but she is discovering that she likes him less than gentle. 

He pulls back a little, bringing one hand up to rest on her throat. Two fingers pressed to her pulse point, where the blood flow is the strongest. “Here,” he murmurs, looking intently at her. “Is that okay?”

When she swallows he feels the motion of it, fluttering beneath his hand. “Yes,” she answers belatedly, and now her pulse has quickened under his fingers. Suguru searches her face, looking for anything even remotely resembling fear. He finds none. There is only nervous anticipation, deep curiosity, and a strong undercurrent of lust.

He tucks that last one away, pushing it to the back of his mind. 

He would like to revisit it later. 

“Ready?” He whispers, as he dips his head down, tracing the path he wants to take along her skin with his tongue. She nods, and it’s all the assent he needs. 

“Oh,” she gasps, when she feels his fangs puncture her. It momentarily knocks the breath out of her, and she is strangely reminded of all the times she’s had her ears pierced. Absurd, she thinks, the ridiculousness of the comparison striking her as humorous. She has little time to dwell on it though, as Suguru begins to gently draw blood from the place where he’s penetrated her skin. 

This, she can compare to nothing. 

There is no experience in her mental reservoir, no recollection of anything that has ever been done to her that even comes close to this. 

It isn’t just the feel of his lips and his tongue and his teeth on her skin, although she sifts through the memories of past lovers - few though they are - and finds that this feeling is leagues ahead of anything she’s felt before. 

It’s in the way she can feel every drop of blood that leaves her body, beckoned onto his tongue like it’s being called home. As if her blood has always belonged to Suguru, and she has merely been keeping it safe for him.

It’s in the way he drinks from her; he does not devour her the way she imagined that he would. Instead, he is unhurriedly savoring the taste of her, as if she is a feast full of courses set before him purely for the purpose of his enjoyment. 

He has one hand braced on the mattress below her head, holding himself up so as not to put his full weight on her… and she wonders if he realizes where his other hand has wandered to, cupped around her breast, thumbing at her nipple through the thin fabric of one of his t-shirts that she’s claimed for her own.

Not that she minds.

She arches into him, offering more of her breast to his touch, more of her blood to his tongue. 

Everything, she thinks absently, the feeling behind the thought so strong that for a moment she worries she has actually spoken it aloud. If you asked me for everything right now, Suguru… I would give it to you without question.

Suguru, for his part, can’t help but to take all that she’s offering him. The clock in his head is winding down, keeping him cognizant of how much more he can drink from her without putting her in danger. 

He is lamenting every second that brings him closer to the point where he has to stop. He knows that the stronger his feelings are for the person he’s feeding on, the sweeter the blood. 

Satoru is the only person whose blood is sweeter than hers. 

The thought should surprise him, but it doesn’t. 

The invisible clock in his head ticks one last time, and reluctantly he withdraws his fangs from her, lapping gently at the puncture marks to stem the flow of blood. He presses a kiss to her skin, gentle and sweet, before raising his head to look at her.

“Ah,” he exhales, when his gaze falls on where his hand is still cupped around her breast. Quickly he pulls his hand away. “Sorry---”

“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t apologize for things you don’t need to apologize for,” she manages. The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement as she bites back a laugh, even as her skin tingles hotly from the afterimage of his touch.

“I got carried away,” he sighs. “I should be sorry about that.”

“I didn’t mind,” she admits softly. Her ears and cheeks are burning, and she fights the urge to look away from him. She realizes that she doesn’t quite know how to express what she wants, but she tries anyway. “Suguru… I don’t really know how it works with you and Satoru…”

Puzzled at why she’s bringing his husband up right now, he blinks at her. “Me and Satoru…?”

“You’re married,” she blurts. She winces, understanding that it must sound like an accusation. “I meant--- I know you two have had other relationships, but… I don’t know how he would feel about---”

“Ha,” he laughs wryly, catching her meaning. “Satoru’s not the jealous type.” He shifts to sit up on his elbows and look at her properly. “And you can bet that he’s having more than his fair share of fun where he is.”

She absorbs this silently. Then, “So he wouldn’t be upset about this?”

“He wouldn’t,” Suguru offers her a reassuring smile. “But if you’re worried, we can call him so you can ask for yourself.”

Her face goes hot again at the thought of such a conversation. Up until now, even knowing that Satoru may return any day now, she has only ever been in the peripheral of any conversation the two men have had. She doesn’t think she wants this to be the first thing she talks directly to Satoru about. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughs. Her laughter subsides, and she takes a deep breath. “In that case…” He’s so close, right there in front of her, and she can’t hide her face. You’re an adult, she chides herself silently. There’s nothing wrong with asking for sex.

But what if he doesn’t want to? What if he’s not attracted to me in that way, and I just end up embarrassing myself by even mentioning it? What if---

“Are you going to let me in on whatever the secret is, or should I start guessing?” There’s amusement in his eyes when she looks back at him, but there is also that kindness that she’s grown so fond of. It gives her the courage to speak plainly. 

“Suguru, I want… to have sex. With you.”

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter Nine: The Question Answered (Coming Soon)

[idontplaytrack]

CAPRI X READER PLEASE

READER PLAYS A SPORT AND LIKE SCORES MAKING THE TEAM WIN LIKE AN IMPORTANT GAME. CAPRI IS THERE DOING HER CHEER STUFF, THEY GO OUT AND CELEBRATE (fluff or smut I’ll leave that up to you) I miss Capri lol

Cheerleader

Capri Donahue x basketball player fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, fluff, little bit of smut ending

In which reader is the one who helps her school win a game after a five-year long losing streak

“I’ll see you later, at the game okay, angel?” Capri hugs you goodbye and smooches you on the cheek.

“Yup.” You smiled, giving her a kiss as well.

“I love you, all the best. You got this.” Capri says.

“Thank you, baby.” You chuckled over your words, giving her one last hug before leaving the apartment. You had to be at school at couple hours earlier than she did for a last practice before the game later. The school’s been notorious for losing the last five years in a row, no matter what the team at the time did. No matter how hard they practiced. No matter how good they were at practice. Even the coach kind of just…gave up at one point and told the team to do their best. He didn’t even want to show his face as coach, feeling the embarrassment of not being able to win. This year, the last coach quit and you guys got a new one. He was great as well, but knew about the school’s history of losing so he — along with the others before him, showed it. He did not like his job here as much.

Anyway, you got transferred to Frederick Douglas High your sophomore year and Capri was thrilled to have you so close to her now. You’d been dating a year at that point of your transfer, and it wasn’t like you two were doing long distance. But, getting to spend more time with each other was great— you couldn’t get enough of your girl. And, she feels the same way, so that was damn amazing. You were among the best of the best basketball players at your old school, so as a result the new coach, Alexis Yates? You were his favourite player. He was almost entirely relying on you to bring the school to victory today. The team was good— very good, but the opponent was always better. The scores were always, always close. But in the game, a loss was a loss. Also, it wasn't exactly like you had the option to join other sports or clubs. The coach at the time heard about your arrival and the school and asked for you by name to be on the team. And, you quickly learnt about the reason why he was so eager to have a player like you on the team.

"y/n, you're early!" Yates spot you jogging into the gymnasium. He was sitting on the bleachers looking the papers on his clipboard: strategies. You looked at him, being snapped out of your thoughts by his exclamation, "Just a few minutes. Lark and Melinda are here too."

They came up to you to say hi upon hearing your voice. "It's game day. Stay focused." "Don't worry, Yates." Melinda laughs, "y/n's got this."

'Way to make me more stressed out, thanks Mel.' You thought, but what actually came out of your mouth was a laugh. “Warm ups, ladies. Enough chitchat.” Yates blew his whistle.

After warmups came a practice game. And like Yates and everyone else expected, you scored the most times. “Maybe you should just carry the game, y/n.” Lark quips. Everyone else chimed in, agreeing. All eager for a win after such a long time to shake the negative reputation of the team. You looked over at Yates in disbelief— even he was agreeing with the team.

“You got this, girl.” He jokes, “We got your back. We got this.”

You laugh. You liked this coach way better than the last one. As much as he pushed his players, he still had the mind to play around and lighten the mood.

“You’ve all worked very hard. Some maintained, some improved. But most importantly, just do your best today and have fun. Winning will be good, but what matters is you all enjoy what you do.”

————

You had some free time before the game. So while some of the girls huddled together and chatted, you sat down at the bleachers with a couple of them to have a little something to eat and hydrate. Capri spots you from afar and she sprinted over, donning her full cheerleading getup. Fuck, she looked adorable.

She squeals, tackling you with a hug, “Hi, angel. Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Capri.” The girls sitting with you said hi to her.

“Hi, you.” You gave her a kiss on the lips, “How was practice?”

“It went well. We’re so ready to hype you guys up.” She laughs lightly, “Yours?”

“Uh, well, they jokingly said they wanted me to carry the game but I’m feeling the pressure, not gonna lie.”

“Baby, just do your best. Don’t focus on what they tell you. Focus on what you know how to do.” Capri says, stroking your cheek with her thumb, “You got this. You’re a star, baby.”

You cracked a smile, “Thank you.”

“Okay!” Yates ran over to the huddle, “Everybody doing okay? Good?”

“Yes, coach.” Everyone chorused— you included.

“I gotta use the restroom.” You excused yourself. “We have plenty of time. Go ahead, star player.” Yates responded playfully. Capri wanted to go with you but you told her not to, giving her a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “Okay, angel.” She gives in, “I’ll see you on the court, alright? Good luck.” Capri gives you a long kiss before breaking away. You head to the bathroom, Capri goes back to her squad on the other side of the court.

Truthfully, you were having a bit of a stomachache due to the nerves. So that’s why you had to go. So while you got through that, you took the time during then to calm yourself down. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you weren’t pressed for time. After awhile you felt okay enough to get out. So you flushed the toilet and walked out. “y/n! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mel. Just a little nervous.”

“You’re a pro, y/n. You got this, alright? We got this. Breathe.” Melinda squeezes your shoulder, “I have a good feeling about this game.”

You nodded, “Yeah, we got this. It’s just a game, nothing we haven’t done before.

“That’s the spirit.” Melinda smiled, “Now come on, coach says he has new jerseys for us.”

“We got new jerseys?!” You gasped.

“Okay, ah, y/n. Here is yours, take good care of it. Number 33. Lark, Rina, Molly, Melinda. Here are yours, go get changed everyone!” Yates handed them all out to the five of you. You all quickly went to the locker room to change. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

The jerseys were such an upgrade. The shade of red matched with the cheerleaders’ uniforms but the exciting thing was that the basketball team— actually all the sports teams at the school now used a falcon as the mascot. An animal the symbolised victory. It seemed like such a sign to you. And clearly, the rest of the team. Of course, having the silhouette of a falcon on your backs was way better than having a donut. Right, the donut. Douglas The Donut had a makeover too— they got Alex a new mascot, which you found out after the game. But that comes in later.

“Remember what we talked about, ladies. Huddle!” You put your hands in for a little bit of a good luck chant. “Go, Falcons!” Damn, that felt good.

“Go, go, go Wildcats!” You all hear from the other team.

And so began the first quarter. First eight minutes. At first, the effort was pretty equal. You guys were a nice couple of points ahead. You felt like you were breezing through the game. You all were totally immersed, only paying attention to the necessary whistles and voices of the game. For you, that included the cheerleading squad. Specifically Capri. All of them hyping up the crowds to hype all of you players up and motivated.

At the end of third quarter, the opponent had the advantage. You were a little tired, ego was a little bruised too having gotten unintentionally or not, shoved to the squeaky gym floors. “Timeout!” The whistle resounded through the room.

“y/n. Are you okay?” Yates asked, concerned. The girls helped you up. “I’m fine.” You told them, “I’m good.” The referee came over to supervise, and listen in. “I’m good, let’s go.”

“Okay.” The referee declared, blowing his whistle, “Game resumes. Falcons get the ball.”

The rest of the game went on without a hitch, pushing aside your pride and focusing on the game entirely. “We’re down to the final quarter. Wildcats are a point ahead.” The commentators announced, “Six minutes on the clock, tensions are higher than ever. Number 10 from Palisade Garden and Number 33! Wow- we’ve got a star player. Going head to head, trying to score a point for their team.”

Your heart was racing. Eyes focused on every single thing that went by, people, players, the noises, the cheerleaders. “Oh! Wildcats failed to score. Falcons gets the ball, Number 33 has it, she passes it to 25. And we’re with 05. Everyone’s on the edge of their seat. We’re down to 35 seconds on the clock. Will she finally get the team to victory? Oh— we’re back with the pro, everybody!”

You’d emptied your mind, but yet you still felt intense things. The adrenaline rushing through your veins, the hundred odd pairs of eyes on you, you teammates watching you hopefully. “Let’s go!” Yates yelled.

Your breathing was deep, watching the hoop, watching the clock. All happening in the matter of seconds.

“Go Falcons!” Capri. Her voice rung through your ears giving you the surge in confidence to toss the ball right over. It smoothly went through the hoop. You watched it happen right before your eyes. In slow motion. Feeling your heart hammering in your chest, you couldn’t help but feel the sticky sweat falling down the sides of your face.

There was buzz, signalling the end of the game. The crowd and everybody else in the gym went absolutely nuts.

“THE FALCONS WIN! For the first time in five years! What a game!”

You feel a bunch of people tackle you in a hug, squealing and cheering. “You did it!” They exclaimed. “Holy shit.” You panted, finally snapped out of your little moment.

“Terrific job, y/n.” Yates came over and gave you a high-five.

“Tha—thank you.” You somehow found your way back to the bleachers and plopped down, grabbing your water bottle. “Oh, my God.” you muttered to yourself, staring at the score on the board. This was the final game, and you all won after several games over the course of a few weeks with different teams. This was the closest fight, but you all finally emerged victorious.

————

Capri hung around with you while you talked to your team. “Let’s go celebrate!” Yayes jogged up to you all after talking to the other team’s coach. “Pizza— my treat.” He continues. “Woo!” The team cheered, “Thank you, coach!”

“You all worked hard. You ladies deserve a little celebration. Especially considering our five year streak of no wins. You too, Donahue. Come on.”

Capri grins, “How are we getting there?”

“We walk.” He laughs.

“Right.” You all snorted, “Well, let’s go!”

The group of you walked to a nearby pizza place for a celebratory meal. And after bidding goodbye to the girls and Yates, you head back to Capri’s with her. “You were amazing, angel.” Capri gushes, starting her car.

You smiled, “Aww.”

“You, made history.” Capri continues.

“Stop.” You giggle.

“Neverrrr.” She continues playfully. “Oh, the things I wanna do to you right now.”

You choked on air at the sudden change in the mood, “Well, damn.”

“So hot.” She chuckles, hand caressing your thigh.

“I gotta shower, babe. I feel really gross being all sweaty.” You snorted a laugh.

“I know.” She replies, brows raised slightly, “We can do a lot. In the shower, too. That was fun, remember?”

“I’m feeling a bath.”

“Even better.” Capri guffaws, “You can rest your legs.”

“Okay.” You sigh, resting your head against the window, “Can’t wait~”

It wasn’t a long drive, but the power nap did you some good. You felt more energised and in a better mood. “Don’t wanna get up, baby?” She teased.

“Getting up, getting up.” You laugh, opening the door, “Let’s go.”

“Can I borrow your clothes?”

“You don’t even have to ask, baby. You always do.” Capri shuts her room door, locking it. Next, she started running the bath while you picked out an outfit. As you shut her wardrobe, you feel her wrap her arms around you from the back. “Baby, I’m sweaty, don’t.”

“I’m so proud of you.” She says, ignoring your statement. Then her hand started to roam, caressing your body lovingly.

“Thank you, baby. I loved that you were there with me.” You told her, a smile creeping onto your face. She spun you around and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Come on, let’s get in there.”

That look in her eyes…goddamn were you excited now too.

Capri took her sweet time worshipping each and every bit of your body, making you feel giddy happy. So loved and cherished, all warm and fuzzy inside too. It felt so, so damn good. Like a reward. It was like a reward, for winning the game. Capri gave you whatever the hell you wanted. Eventually also moving from the bathroom and to her bed after getting freshened up. You sat in her lap, squirming from sensitivity. Trying not to unravel so easily. She knew you were close, so she tells you to let go. “Hey, come on. It’s okay, you can come.” She coaxed, “Don’t need to hold back.”

Capri’s been plunging her fingers in and out of you for the last thirty minutes soaking her fingers and sheets, the constant pleasure alone felt incredible. So tender, so sweet…especially with her holding your face in her hand to keep eye contact. You didn’t even need to come— you didn’t feel the need to. You were completely relaxed and felt like you were ascending into a completely different dimension as she praised you and whispered sweet words into your ears unendingly.

“Give me one, baby. I wanna see it— I wanna taste you. Please?” On her command, you let go…safe and secure in her arms. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came intensely. “That’s it, angel. Just like that…so beautiful, baby. You’re so beautiful. Good girl.”

“Fuck, I love you.” You completely rested your wait on her, head thrown back on her shoulder. Through the corner of your eye, you saw her sticking her fingers in her mouth to clean them off. You laugh, “Shit, that is so—”

“I love you so much, my girl.” She told you earnestly, a comforting hand on your thigh. That look in her eyes gave you crazy butterflies. She continues, “That was perfect.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

I’m back🥳

[smallbrooke1998]

(A sketch of my version of Oliver and Duck)

Story below:

The little Western engines (ponies), Duck and Oliver, the Scottish twins; Donald and Douglas, the lambo twins; Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Windblade, and Bumblebee are at the Zephry Heights theater, in the balcony seats because Pipp and Zipp gave them VIP passes to allow them to sit at the balcony seats to overlook the theater and stage. Although everyone had their own chair in the area, there was competition about who would end up in a chair. 

The main ones behaving in this manner were Oliver and Duck.

“Quit it! Find your own spot! I got it first!” Oliver quickly yells out to Duck, who has been wanting to sit in that chair as well for the past couple minutes. 

“Well, there's no other chairs, sharing is only fair.” Duck replied to Oliver, not taking no for an answer. He then decides to be cheeky and sits down onto the chair, Oliver barely having room. 

“Duck! Get off!” Oliver quickly reacts and pushes the other off the chair. Nobody did anything and watched with amusement. Duck didn't seem phased and got up again. 

“I’m not standing the whole time,” Duck adds, with a smirk. He gets back onto the chair again, causing Oliver to start fuming. 

“Well if that is necessary, then it will! Now stop try’in’ to sit here! I need space, now get off!” Oliver once more shoves Duck off, ruffling his wings. 

Duck lays there for a moment before he gets up and sits back down onto the chair. “Is standing plausible? I don't have a good back you know in pony form and I can't do it. Did you forget, the show is three hours?” Duck says as he gets situated, still smirking. His tail flickers side to side. 

The lambo twins cracked up laughing, the rest were entertained by the events. The actual show wouldn't start for another 20 minutes. 

“Ugh, I don't care! Stop with the cheekiness and stay off my spot!” Oliver replies back, getting quite upset. He pushes Duck off one more time, and like the previous times, it didn't phase him. Oliver was fed up with it and realized Duck wasn't going to listen so he gave in and shared their chair, even if the space was tight. 

“Finally, you decided to share.” Duck says to Oliver, somewhat teasingly. Oliver sighs. “Be lucky we’re friends because I don't know how I would put up with you if we weren't” Oliver added. “Is the fight over…? I mean…Not that…I enjoyed it anyways, of course not! Ahem…” Sunstreaker comments, clearly disappointed that the drama was over, Sideswipe looks away. Everyone else just stares at each other and looks back. 

What nopony knew was, this brief scuffle would be the most entertaining event of the evening, for all of three hours. Although the Chamber choir, Orchestra, Pipp, and Zipp were doing a play to demonstrate the history of their holiday, the show was very slow paced and it wasn't the most entertaining performance ever. In fact, it was very common for the audience to fall asleep halfway through the show, only waking up at intermission. The Zephyr Heights holiday was Wishentine. The three holidays were basically Hearth's Warming, but since the division, the three races had their own version of it.

(Guess what reference of the scene is from where one character kept pushing the other off the chair. One character is annoyed, while the other isn't bothered and kept getting back up)

The link to a better understanding of the mention of other characters is below the cut on my DA page;

Here is the gallery to seeing the character designs and such. I don't have designs for the scottish twins yet but at least for the ponified Transformers characters.

[eretzyisrael]

by Kylie Ora Lobell

Dutton is just one of many journalists who has chosen to ignore facts, instantly side against Israel and spew lies to the public. From the outside, it looks like Israel’s supporters are losing the information war, as there seems to be an endless wave of fake reports about the country, always putting it in a negative light. 

But Murray, who has been in a similar fight for years against progressivism in the West, is convinced he is making a difference. To him, there is a reason to keep fighting.

“I think I make a lot of headway,” he said. “My view is that 1,000 lies can be corrected by one truth. Obviously social media is testing my theory in real time, but I still believe it. Whenever I’m in a debate with someone who is fervently anti-Israel, I tend to find that audiences appreciate you introducing new facts or little known or unknown facts to the debate. They appreciate that people are pushing back against this. Is there a percentage of the population who simply won’t listen? Absolutely. But the majority of the public is still available. They do listen. And it’s to them that I speak.”

When it comes to Israel, Murray said there are people who “absorb the mainstream media each night, and then they call for the killing to stop and think it’s being done by Israel. In such moments, it’s very important that a voice speaks up and gives courage to others to speak up as well. I have a favorite quote: ‘All I have is a voice to undo the folded lie.’”

Sometimes the lies and criticism come from the Jewish community itself, like when Senator Chuck Schumer (D-N.Y.) spoke up against the Israeli government, or Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) demanded “No more money to Netanyahu’s war machine to kill Palestinian children.” Why does Murray think this is happening?

“Chuck Schumer, whom I respect, is probably playing a domestic political game in the U.S.,” Murray said. “He’s an intelligent man, and he must know that every Israeli leader would be doing the same thing as Netanyahu [in the aftermath of Oct. 7]. If America had thousands of citizens taken hostage – relative to its size – and tens of thousands murdered in one day, America would be doing much more than Israel is doing, and Schumer knows that. I think it’s about a domestic political game playing out in America, which I regret, because this issue is above politics.”

As a staunch defender of the West and its values, Murray is compelled to support Israel because, as he said, it’s on the front line of the civilized world, defending the West. “Israel has recognizable ethics and culture,” he said. “It’s different, as all countries are, but it’s part of us.” What baffles him – and many others – is the fact that Westerners in America and Britain are supporting every country in the Middle East except for Israel.

“Israel is the one country in which Americans could live in the Middle East,” he said. “I���ve spent enough time in other countries to know this difference. A lot of people don’t. Israel is a core part of the West. When people ask me, ‘Why do you support Israel?’ I say, ‘Why would you support every other country but Israel?’” 

[bootstrapparadoxed]

creative works & links

AO3 - Ko-Fi - YouTube - Patreon

Novel

adult sci-fi; a queer, existentialist space adventure

Summary:

In the distant future, humans live in a utopia where even death is not the end—for everyone except Amber’s parents. At 25, she is a cynical, aloof Ph.D. in history who resents her sheltered life at home and yearns to find her place in the world. Then, an exciting job offer comes her way—the chance to uncover the mystery of a civilization that disappeared thousands of years ago. Teaming up with the archeologist Lullaby, Amber embarks on a hitchhiking quest to find the fabled Aquamarine Moon and, perhaps, some much-needed meaning in her life.

Publisher’s website | Amazon

You can get a free ebook copy in exchange for an honest review on goodreads or storygraph! Send me a direct message or ask for details.

Current WIP

"Offspring of (Un)happy Days", a dark academia horror with a M/M romance - WIPintro here, I tag posts about it as #FrankensteinWIP

Video Essays

"Science Has an Accountability Problem | Dumpster Fire Data"

Do you know how many researchers anonymously admit to fabricating data? The answer is not a number of individuals, it is a percentage. As scientists, we like to believe that we are the pinnacle of accuracy, honesty, and accountability. In reality, we are no different from any other human, just as capable of making mistakes. And it’s time to fully admit to that. Welcome to Dumpster Fire Data, a series in which I analyze the hell out of crumbling institutions.

“Representation DIY: What Headcanons Can Teach You About Autism”

On why representation of minority groups in fiction has such a powerful influence, why I prefer headcanon autistic characters over canon examples, and how headcanon discussions can improve the public dialogue and be an additional push for better diverse media.

“Night in the Woods: Cosmic Horror and Optimistic Nihilism”

An exploration of themes and narrative threads of “Night in the Woods” through the eyes of an exhausted Gen Z anarchist. On the terrifying world that young adults of today were born into and how it affected us, the two ways in which NiTW explores cosmic horror, why humans always look for stories, patterns, and meaning, and whether you can be sane and happy without meaning altogether. 

“Disability and Capitalism” 2-parter

A deep dive into the intertwined history of ableism and the capitalist economy, starting from the dawn of humanity and ending with a hopeful look into the future. Featuring a shitton of citations/research and generously sprinkled with science fiction.

“Squid Game and the Gamefication of Capitalism”

"Squid Game" is a South Korean survival drama that explores themes of class disparity and inequality with a Hunger Games-esque, thrilling plotline. Is the reality show / video game aesthetic of Squid Game just another compelling visual element, or an additional metaphor?

"Is Phylogenetics a Proper Science?"

Birds are dinosaurs, whales are cousins of cows, and fishes do not exist – these are the kind of things you learn in phylogenetics lectures as a biology undergrad. I have compartmentalized this knowledge in my head for years without giving it a second thought. Then, I fell down a rabbit whole of weird philosophy of science papers, and it broke my brain a little.

"Pokemon Evolutions Are Real... Kind Of"

More people have probably heard the word "evolution" in a pokemon game than in a high school biology class. And they aren't even actually evolving, they're going through metamorphosis. Probably. Well…

Short Stories

Short Story: "Satisfied", cyberpunk horror, in HyphenPunk Magazine Issue 7

Selected Fanfiction

One Septendecillion Brass Doorknobs: AO3 - Royalroad - Rebloggable Link

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency S3 as a full novel length (82k words) fic written in my best attempt at the style of Douglas Adams

where fire and ice collide: AO3 

30k long/novella length doctor who and good omens crossover with Tenth and Rose and all the GO characters; mostly focused on the mystery/adventure plotline but it also has tenrose and ineffable husbands tones in the mix

when it’s time: AO3

good omens 20k ineffible husbands slowburn. you know the cold open of E3? it’s 20k more of it. with mutual pining and angst and an eventual happy ending

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor- Chapter Four

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4.3K

Note: I know I said this chapter would link up with the series, but that will be the next chapter now – I didn’t want Tom getting in trouble with the police to be so sudden. I hope you don’t mind! More detailed notes at the end!

August 1939

Monday morning, two days since the dancehall, and the street was alive with activity. Two women were pushing prams along the pavement, a chatter of children following in their wake. Satchels of schoolbooks swung at their sides, and a few of the little boys already looked ready for playtime. Some of the older women were beating rugs over chairs, making the most of the early morning sun, and Dennis Warley had just been by with the morning post.

Outside the Vaughn’s house, Cora was seated on an upturned bucket from the yard, polishing a pair of her father’s shoes. Bess sat on the bottom step, reading her newly delivered fashion magazine. Dot peered over her shoulder.

“That one,” Dot pointed to a buttercup yellow tea dress. “Could you make it for me?”

“I could,” Bess puffed out a stream of cigarette smoke. “If you buy the fabric.” She flipped the page and Dot huffed.

“Do you know how much most girls pay to have dresses made by Bess, Dot?” Cora said, not looking up from her work.

“Not enough,” said Dot.

“Amen.” Bess shut the magazine and handed it to her younger sister. At that moment, Fergal appeared in the doorway, plate of bacon and eggs in hand. He stepped, with socked feet, between his daughters and sat on the step.  

“What are you up to today, Bess?” He said through a mouthful of breakfast.

“Going over to Robina Chase’s, that suit of hers is finished.”

“You watch yourself on the roads, my girl.”

“Yes, dadda.”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and a second later, the long legs of Albie Vaughn were stepping over his sisters too. “Double, double, toil and trouble,” he teased. Dot pretended to put a curse on him as he crossed the street and knocked on the Bennett’s door. Bess watched him curiously. He didn’t usually fetch Lois in the mornings.

“There you go, dadda.” Cora passed Fergal his shoes, which he slipped on as he handed his plate to Bess. The Bennett’s door opened, and Albie exited with Tom trailing behind him. Fergal went to join them.

“Dadda said he’d got Tom a shift at the dockyard,” sniffed Dot. “Good to see he’s got him some honest work.” Bess and Cora raised their eyebrows at Dot’s air of superiority and smirked at each other. Just as she looked to the three men, Bess caught Tom’s eye. Her cheeks prickled with anxiety but she didn’t let her nerves show. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to see from his side of the street. Instead, she stared him down. Tom watched her a moment, then smirked. Bastard. Fergal clapped him on the shoulder and the three men began their way to the dockyard.

“See you later, girls!” Fergal and Albie waved behind them. Tom Bennett swaggered forward, staring resolutely ahead.

 “Ah, here she is!” Lois appeared at the doorway, tucking a stray curl under her scarf.

“Ready?” She called. Cora and Dot stood.

“We’ll be back around 6, ta-ra!” Cora kissed Bess on the cheek, and she, Lois and Dot made their way to the factory. Up ahead, the men were just rounding the corner, and Bess could have sworn she saw Tom cast a sideways glance in her direction. They hadn’t spoken since Saturday night. Not that the chance had been given; the curtains of his bedroom remained shut and Lois said he was nursing a hangover and an almighty bollocking from Douglas.

“Can’t imagine your dad raising his voice,”

“It’s Tom we’re talking about Bess,”

There hadn’t been a moment to forget about the night either, for the next morning it was all Dot could talk about.

“And then Tom told me to go inside so I went to find Cora and Bess but heard this sound like a gunshot and that black-haired man that Bess had been dancing with was on the floor and then then Tom hit the other two before punching the man-”

“Breathe, Dot,”

“-and I went and got Albie and him and Lois’ fella pulled Tom off them. You’ll never guess what Tom did next, dadda. He spat on him! Tom spat on that poor man!”

When the police arrived at the Bennett’s, searching for Tom, Dot had nearly screamed. Fergal shook his head.

“Can’t the police leave us alone on a Sunday?”

“Don’t think crime has Sundays off, dadda.” Albie said.

That night, when Bess was finishing her final checks of Mrs Chase’s suit and the rest of her family were in bed, she saw Tom climbing the drainpipe outside his and Lois’ room. She had half a mind to go and tell Douglas until she saw Tom shimmy back down the drainpipe and bolt away. Bess wasn’t going to break first. She wasn’t some girl he could charm with a flash of his smile and a quick fumble at the back of the picture house, and if he didn’t know it yet then God help Tom Bennett.

*

Gravel popped under Bess’ bicycle wheels as she pushed it up the Chase’ drive. Robina Chase was a client of the Manchester atelier. When she discovered that one of the girls who trained there lived nearby, she had ceased her journeys into the city and had Bess attend her personally. She never came to the Vaughns, like most of Bess’ clients. No, each time she insisted that Bess come to her.

Bess looked up at the enormous house. On her street, some families were crammed seven or eight into a two-bedroom house. In their own home, the Vaughn’s had five. Here, it was just Robina and Harry. Still, nothing could make Bess swap their cramped home for the halls of the Chase’s. Each time she stepped through the door a chill descended on her, no matter if it was midwinter or midsummer. The door opened before Bess could reach it.

“I saw you coming.” Robina said curtly. Bess opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Chase was already walking towards her lounge. The spacious room was the lightest in the house and best, therefore, for Bess to do her work. Someone had brought down a silk screen from Mrs Chase to change behind and when Bess entered the room, this was where she was, clothes laid on a chaise lounge and, stood in her cotton chemise. Everything that Bess used to visit Mrs Chase had to be portable and light enough to strap onto her bicycle, and so, she took out the foldable tailor’s platform that her father had made her and placed it on the ground. Mrs Chase stepped onto it and watched Bess continue unloading her things. She said nothing. When Bess held up the red suit for her to examine, she simply said “Lovely,” and pursed her lips. For half an hour, Bess added the final touches to the suit; taking the hem up a centimetre, adding a little embellished stitching along the collar.

“I’m off to see the boys before I go,” a knock sounded and Harry Chase, with his weary eyes and boyish charm, appeared at the lounge door. “You look lovely, mother. Oh, hello again.”

Robina was waving off his compliment when she stopped. “You know each other?”

“We met at a dance,”

“Mm, well, don’t be home late or drunk. I shan’t wait up.” She turned back to Bess, whom Harry nodded to before leaving. When the front door slammed and the car engine kicked into life, so did Robina Chase. “Harry told me he stopped a fight at the dance on Saturday.”

“That he did,” Bess said, still looking over the garment to make sure everything was in order.

“No doubt over some woman.”

“I don’t know what is was about,” Bess grew quiet, and Robina continued.

“Who was the man? Do you know?”

At this, Bess stilled her work and hesitated. “Tom Bennett, ma’am.” She said quietly.

“Bennett? He’s not related to that Lois girl, is he?” There was a definite air of disdain in Mrs Chase’s voice and Bess fought hard to control herself. We need the money, we need the money, we need her money.

“Her brother, ma’am.”

“Well, with her spending the night in a cell it only makes sense that her brother is the very same. I met that father of theirs, Dougal?”

“Douglas,”

“Quiet as a dormouse and mad as a March-hare. No wonder his children are so wayward. And I can’t imagine living in Longsight helps, amongst all those ruffians. You’d think modern Britain would be rid of slums but here we are.”

Bess wanted to stick her pin in the papery flesh of Mrs Chase’s thigh. She resolved, however, to walk back to her sewing box and place it neatly with its fellows. “All done.”

“It’s lovely, thank you. It was £5 for the remainder, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bess took the cheque from Mrs Chase and began strapping her tools to the bicycle.

“I’ll be in touch soon with some ideas for the spring. A new decade surely brings new fashions.” Her ignorance was astounding. Her son was back from war torn Poland, about to go back, and news of Hitler’s plans for the rest of Europe was spreading like wildfire. Not to mention what she thought of the poor.

“If I may say something, ma’am,” Bess took a shaky breath. She could count the people that scared her on one hand. One was stood in front of her, perfectly manicured fingers waiting to close the door, eyebrow raised in challenge. “I can’t make excuses for Tom’s behaviour, but no-one could ask for a kinder confident or supporter than Lois. And I mean no-one. Rich or poor, kind or cruel, she’ll look after you. And as for Douglas, he is one of the gentlest men I’ve ever known and we’re lucky to have him as our neighbour. Yes, our neighbour. He’s been a great friend to our father.” She swung her leg over her bike as Robina stood a little higher and haughtier. “Make sure to tell your friends the new suit was by a “ruffian” of Longsight. See you in the spring.” She pedalled away before Mrs Chase could raise her snobbish voice in argument.

*

By the time Bess had cycled the hour from Mrs Chase’s to Longsight, the summer dress she wore was soaked in sweat. Leaving the bike outside, she dumped her tools on the kitchen table and ran upstairs. Stripping down to her underwear, she filled a bowl with cold water, opened the window of her room and let the curtain down. Cora and Dot would thank her when they got back from the sweltering heat of the factory. Grabbing a flannel, she dipped it in the cold water and ran it over her body. Goosebumps rose across Bess’ skin and she sighed. Hair tied in a loose knot, held in place with one of her mother’s silk scarves, Bess held the flannel against her neck. She squeezed it in her palm and let the droplets fall down her back. In the breeze, the net curtain shuddered and brushed against her skin. She looked through the window. Their bedroom faced Lois and Tom’s. As children, Lois, Cora and Dot would wave to each other and commune in their own secret language. When they had gone to sleep, or first thing when they hadn’t woken, Bess and Tom would hold their palms to the windows. They never did anything else, and they certainly didn’t talk about it in the day.

Dressing in a light blouse and yellow skirt of linen, Bess padded barefoot downstairs and opened the front door, before retreating to the kitchen and doing the same to the yard door. Cool air filled the little house. Back in the kitchen, at the foot of the stairs, was the piano. Bess lifted the lid protecting the keys and sat at the stool. A photograph of her great-aunt Iris sat proudly atop the upright. Her face was gentle, white hair pulled back, a shawl draped round her shoulders. The eldest of five, Iris held dreams of becoming a great concert pianist, but her family couldn’t afford to continue her lessons once more children came along. She worked as a parlour maid from fourteen to save her own money and, at seventeen, bought a ticket to London. Feigning sickness, she caught the early train from Manchester and within hours found herself at the steps of the Royal Academy of Music. Iris had written her own application with the help of a kind woman from central library and was invited to audition. She played a programme of Liszt, Chopin and Rachmaninov for the admissions board and had impressed them with her sight-reading skills. She was back in Manchester in time for supper. When a letter bearing the academy’s emblem arrived two weeks later, Iris pocketed it in her apron and ran to the yard to open it. She’d never know such a fleeting whisper of joy as this again, for below her congratulation of acceptance, were the academy’s fees. Iris Vaughn lived the rest of her days teaching, playing piano on Saturdays for the cinema’s afternoon showing.

Bess had no dreams of becoming a concert pianist, but she intended to forge her own path. For herself, and for great-aunt Iris. Kissing her fingers then touching Iris’ photograph, Bess began to play. A few Bach preludes to warm up. Iris loved them. Rigid and mathematical, they were beautiful in their ornamentation and meandering grandeur. As her fingers danced over the keys, she thought about how Bach managed this feat of emotional engineering within such a confined structure. Rigidity, confined structures. Suddenly, Mrs Chase’s pursed lips and flared nostrils entered her mind. The music stopped. Bloody bitch. Bess moved to the jazz standards; My Funny Valentine, One O’Clock Jump, Frenesi, On the Sunny Side of the Street. Surely Mrs Chase hates jazz, it’s something Harry likes.

Bess played for an hour or so, lulling herself into a waking dream. The breeze cooled her calves, the sounds of the piano drifting with it into the street and, occasionally, the peal of a child’s laughter reminded Bess that she was in her family kitchen, not the Ritz. The scent of cigarette smoke from the street beyond gave Bess pause and she grabbed the packet hidden in the cutlery drawer, the packet Cora thought no-one knew about. Cigarette lit, she played a little Joplin in honour of Iris before the sun fell behind a cloud and the breeze turned from calming to crisp. Bess near skipped out of the kitchen and to the front door, such was the affect of an hour’s playing to alleviate her mood, but her steps came to an abrupt halt as she rounded the door into the hallway. A man was sat on the front step, collar up against the chill, a plume of cigarette smoke rising into the early evening sky, the effect making his blond head look alight. He turned slowly round, cigarette held loftily between his thin lips.

“Don’t stop playing on my account,” he grinned.

“You’re back early.” Bess folded her arms and stood firm in the hallway.

“Your dad and Albie have taken an extra shift.” He stretched is arms in an exaggeration of tiredness. “Besides, I don’t think labouring is for me.”

Bess gripped the door. “Right, well, if you could move, you’re letting in a draft.” He did as he was told and stood from the step but as Bess moved to swing shut the door, he placed a boot between it and the frame.

“Bess.” An edge of desperation lined his voice.

“Tom.” Hers was weary.

“Bess. That man was a prick, and if I hadn’t sorted him out some other bloke would have. But,” he placed his palm on the door and pushed it open a little, revealing Bess to him fully. “But I am sorry for what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that.” She scanned his face. The smirk had gone and his usually bright eyes were solemn, but all Bess could to do was nod and rapidly blink back tears. Tom stepped away from the door and allowed her to close it.

I’m not jealous of a bloke who dances with the only girl who doesn’t say no because she doesn’t say anything at all.

Her eyes stung, and she flicked away a tear before it had the chance to fall. Cora and Dot would be back from work soon, and they couldn’t know she’d been crying over Tom Bennett. Even if he had broken her heart a little. All those years she thought Tom hadn’t seen her as a freak or recluse. An oddity worthy of stares and ridicule. With one fell strike, he had proved she was wrong.

The evening passed quickly. In a heavy-hearted haze, Bess made soup and sandwiches for the Vaughn’s supper. Cora and Dot were exhausted when they returned from the factory. A long day in the oppressive heat of the factory had worked up an almighty appetite in both of them, though they could barely lift their spoons. They retreated to the cool of their bedroom at 8.30. Bess sat in the dim of the kitchen, the comfort of her father’s armchair easing her unrest a little. She stood when he and Albie arrived home, but he waved her down, kissed her cheek and took a plate of sandwiches to his room.

“What’s happened, Bess?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her perch by the hearth. Albie stood in the door to the hallway, dishevelled and ready for rest. The middle Vaughn children were closest in age and closest in mind. She didn’t begrudge it of Cora and Dot; Cora had to bear too much responsibility for the family, and Bess would not steal Dot’s youth from her. But she sometimes imagined that she and Albie were connected by an invisible string the others didn’t have. When one felt sad, elated and anything in between, the other felt the tugging of the string that had hooked itself neatly beneath their ribs.

“What’s happened?” Albie repeated.

“Oh nothing,” Bess reached for her book and glass of whisky. “Was over at the Chase’s this afternoon.”

“Ah, say no more,” Albie smiled but his gaze lingered on his sister, and she knew that he didn’t believe her. “Night, Bess.”

“Night, Albie.” She listened as he trudged up the stairs and shut the door to the room he shared with their father. Bess opened her book but instead of reading, stared into the empty room around her. The light outside turned from fuchsia pink to ashen blue and, just as she finished the last sip of her drink, she heard the patter of running footsteps on the street outside. Any moment now, the door would click open, Tom would smile boyishly at her and settle himself on the end of the kitchen table. He always did hang around a little more after they had argued. Bess waited for his shadow at the window. Breath hitched in anticipation, she edged to the hallway and watched the door. Now. The door handle would turn and he’d appear.

The night was quiet. The faintest snuffled snoring from upstairs punctuated Bess’ breathing. The door didn’t open. Bess hurried to the kitchen window and pulled back the netting to see a leg disappear through Tom’s window. He didn’t close it.

*

Next day, Bess had no clients. After making breakfast for the working members of her family, she cycled to the dockyard. There was something about the hum of industry sidled up to the crashing water, and the canal leading to the sea beyond it, that thrilled Dot. She spied Albie and her father ascending cranes to deliver goods. Sure enough, Tom was not with them. As the sun continued to rise in the sky, the heat along with it, Bess retreated home. Turning into the street, Douglas Bennett passed her on his on cycle and touched a finger to his cap.

“Morning!” She called to him. Leaving her bike where Douglas’ would have been minutes before, Bess rapped on the Bennett’s door. No answer. Lois would, of course, be at work with Cora and Dot. She tested the handle. It opened.

“It’s rude to just walk into someone’s house without being invited.” Tom was slouching down the stairs, pulling a shirt over his head. The pale skin of his abdomen drew Bess’ eye and she blushed a little, looking down so that her hair fell forward to cover her shame.

“You do it often enough at ours.”

By way of an answer, Tom lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. As he did so, she saw the smattering of red cuts across his fingers. They were small, like little paper cuts, and certainly hadn’t been there yesterday. She looked to his other hand. He was covered in them.

“Better get them sorted or they’ll get infected.” Bess nodded to his hand. He merely shrugged, picked some bacon out of the pan Lois had left on the stove and wandered into the sunlit back yard. Bess took the pan from the stove and filled the sink with hot water. Lois, like Cora, needed any help she could get when it came mothering her family. Once the pan was washed, Bess filled a pitcher with warm water. Rooting around in the cupboards, she found a bottle of Douglas’ whisky.

“Sorry, Douglas.” With a clean cloth, bandage, the whisky and pitcher of water, Bess pushed open the yard door with her foot and sat by Tom. His head was leant against the brick of the house, exposing the lean muscle of his neck. The cigarette in his mouth was barely lit, and he pursed his lips to puff it into life. Bess watched the smoke unfurl in the air and caught site of his shadow against the wall. Sharp, harsh and angular. He looked like a Roman statue. Not one of a great emperor, mind. One of those spoilt man-childs that fucked their way around Rome before dying of syphilis. Bess snorted as she sat on the bench beside him. Tom eyed her sideways.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bess took his hand in hers, soaked the cloth in the water and brought it to his knuckles. “So, where were you last night?”

“Met a girl down Belle Vue,” Bess hummed to at least sound interested, but she had no inclination to hear about his conquests. Now his hand was clean, she dabbed a little whisky on the cloth. “Showed her a real ride, if you know what I mean.” His wink turned into a grimace when Bess pressed the alcohol into his cuts. “Steady on.”

“Where did these come from?”

“Got them working down the dockyard,” he sniffed. His nose always wrinkled when he was lying, or annoyed. Bess caught his eye as it darted to the end of the yard. Looking down the little garden, she saw a pile of scrap metal hidden under an old dust sheet. She didn’t let on that she’d seen.

“At least you’ll get no more cuts, now you’ve retired from hard labour.” She took out the bandage and began rolling it around his hand. “What are you gonna do now?”

Tom watched Bess at work. “Ah, you know me. I’ll find my way around.” She hummed and, as she tied the bandage, instinctively brought it to her mouth where she kissed his open palm. Fuck. Bess could feel heat rising up her neck, every muscle tensing. The opposite happened to Tom, who huffed a laugh. They spoke in unison.

“Sorry, I always did it to Dot when she hurt herself.”

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask.”

They froze.

Tom’s bandaged hand closed around Bess’.

Her eyes flickered to the smirk slowly disappearing from Tom’s face. He licked his lips.

“Hiya!”

Just like at the dancehall, Tom dropped Bess’ hand faster than Queenie Warren’s knickers, and knocked on the window that adjoined the yard to the sitting room.

“Out here, Lois!” Tom turned back to the yard. The door leading to the narrow alley behind the house was swinging shut, a flash of copper hair disappearing behind it.

Note: Hello pals! Just a note to say that I (finally) caught Covid, and there has been a huge ecological disaster where I am from. Not being able to go back and help due to having Covid is really hurting and I’m feeling pretty weary. That being said, I am hoping that writing this will keep me going, though if updates take longer that’ll be why.

£5 in 1939 is about £250 in today’s money, and Belle Vue (Tom references it when he’s in the Paris hospital) is an area not far from Longsight that had an amusement park and zoo. The jazz standards that Bess plays on the piano were all released in 1939 or before, have a listen if you’ve never heard them! My great-great aunt Ida (!) was a pianist for silent films and I think that’s just the coolest job ever, she’s the inspiration behind Iris. Shout out to @myfandomprompts for the amazing gif!

I’m not particularly happy with this chapter, I know I said I wanted a slow build but crikey. It’ll pick up in the next few chapters. We all know what’s coming…

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @sophielangdonx

[toffoliravioli]

love this team with all my heart but this is so true. nico constantly sticks up for his team, like today, he’s an amazing leader and presence in the locker room and bench and y’all have the nerve to do absolutely nothing when your captain gets pummeled. this is becoming a game by game thing and it’s eNOUGH! you don’t think teams around the league see this and say to themselves “oh the devils don’t protect their captain so we can go at him all we want hehe” I get most of y’all are not built for fighting but come onnnnn.

There has to be some protectiveness in your little bones. Nobody is saying y’all have to have full on fights gloves off, but a little pushing and shoving around won’t hurt ya. Especially if your captain is constantly getting manhandled and has to defend himself (like today, which ended in a penalty but we won’t discuss that monstrous call). We cannot have so many six foot/almost six foot players with no backbone in their bodies (Douglas and gravy im semi looking at you but mwah I still love u)

Timo has been here for .5 seconds and already has more hits here then some of y’all hAve in your whole careers.

[avatarskywalker78]

How are your OCs' relationships with their mothers?

Oho, this is a good question because it varies from OC to OC - so I'll group similar ones together (and I'm putting them under the cut because I have a lot of OCs)

Several do not have great relationships with their mothers - Nicky's parents left her behind with relatives when she was six and she's very bitter about this, and still doesn't entirely believe that her aunt won't one day do the same. Sophie Sloan (Diagnosis Murder OC) was abandoned by her mother when she was two years old - she doesn't remember enough to miss her, but part of her can't help but feel it was a judgement on her. My X-Men OCs Alex, Rosa, and Kate left their respective homes because of their mothers' anti-mutant sentiments and there's no reconciliation on the horizon because unfortunately, that hasn't changed in the years since. Marie Douglas (The Professionals) and Brianna Louise Wilson (NCIS) left home at thirteen and eighteen respectively because they were unwanted compared to thier siblings and damn well knew it.

Steph Taylor and Brianna Thawne get along with their mothers but it is somewhat distant - Steph's worked a lot during her childhood and while she doesn't exactly begrudge her that there's still a little bit of resentment there, and they only tend to talk on holidays and birthdays. Brianna's loves her, but unintentionally put pressure on her by talking about the high achieving relatives, which made Brianna push herself and push herself until she burnt out, and then she left home at seventeen to find herself (and became a Blue Flame Wielder), and has hardly talked to her since. Risa Redlark (Superman Returns) talks to her mother but struggles to connect with her as she doesn't understand why Risa wants to be a journalist. Áine (The Witcher) doesn't see her mother much because she travels a lot, but still tries to make time to see her when she can.

Some of them had positive relationships with their mothers but are missing them for one reason or another. Meri Solo, Isla Tinero-Antilles and Ashley Tanner (my Krypton OC) loved their mothers, but lost them at a young age - out of the three, Ashley has more memories as she was ten (compared to Isla at 4 and Meri at 5), but sometimes suffers doubt about whether her mother would've accepted her gender identity had she lived, and that unanswered question colours things a bit.

Eliana's mother Lana Lang is presumed dead - nothing's ever been confirmed, as there's no way to contact her Earth, but Eliana is mostly convinced that she's dead, because there's no way that her mother wouldn't have been helping more metas and aliens get off-world and she would be killed if caught, and Eliana misses her so much but hardly allows herself to think of any possibility she might be alive because it's too painful (but nonetheless, a small part of her hopes.) Nellith does think her mother is dead because of the severed Force Bond and this devastates her and she struggles to talk about it with anyone - even Meri, the person who ends up looking after her for the next fourteen years.

Emile Brooke has been mostly raised by her grandparents and doesn't see her mother often - as of the start of the story it's been two years since she last saw her - but she doesn't doubt that she loves her, even with the complicated circumstances. Lissa Blackwood has not contacted her mother in fifteen years and although she feels so very guilty about this, is nonetheless convinced it is for the best.

The rest have pretty solid relationships with their mothers. The Barnes children all adore Leah, and look up to her a lot, Gemma Laura McKinney still regularly visits both her parents, and James Connors thinks Nicky is the best mom ever and he's so happy to have been adopted by her. Maia Curry only knows the one parent but that's enough for her and she's never felt unloved or been bothered by the lack of a father. Sophia Reynolds has been raised only by her mom for the last eleven years (because they had to flee their home planet and have no way of contacting Mal Reynolds to let him know they're alright), and is very protective of her mom.

Theo Thawne loves his mom Laura to pieces and even started studying to become a social worker like her. Sarah Thompson got along very well with her mother, and Alex always tried to find a way to talk to her mom when she could, unless she was on an undercover mission - even though there was still some disagreement over Alex joining SHIELD in the first place. Hannah Edwards is happy to be Jane's kid, and though she has a desire to find her birth father, she is not so bothered about finding out about her birth mother (she does eventually get to meet Bobbi, but it takes some time for the relationship to become cordial). Caitlin Sherwood (Buffyverse) speaks to her mother once a week and sees her when she can and gets along with her well, she's just often very busy. Niamh (OUAT) lives with both parents and is the light of their lives, Joanna (Uncharted) was mostly raised by her mother and maternal aunt and considers them as the most important people in the life, and Mel Hathaway (Star Trek) has a somewhat strained but mostly loving mother (she just disagreed with Mel joining Starfleet after she was nearly killed while on a routine trip to Vulcan).

As for the others I just haven't got that far.

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @starstruckpurpledragon @vexic929 @negative-speedforce @lady-of-the-spirit

@fezwearingjellybananas @daughter-of-melpomene @forchrissy