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teabights · 3 years ago

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Oscar "Spooky" Diaz

Summary: Something cute.

Word Count: 1853

You could feel your skin crawl as you heard the man catcall you from across the street.

"HEY MAMI, COME HERE FOR A SECOND SO I CAN GET A GOOD LOOK AT YA."

The fact you had to walk in front of the Santos house to get to work was the most annoying part of your day. The jefe always offered to walk you the rest of the way home because you get home at 2am. You always turned him down, mostly because you don't want to invite any unexpected visitors. Also, having the jefe walking around with you at night shows allegiance to the Santos. You manage to remain completely neutral. You have done research on all the gangs and the Santos have the best morals of all the gangs.

"AYE MAMI…"

"Shut up Joker." You hear the jefe tell the yelling Santo. "She obviously doesn't want what you have to offer."

You just crack a smile as you keep walking. The jefe was always so nice to you for no reason. You get to work after a few more blocks. It was the most discrete little strip club. You get to your little locker, labeled 'Venus', opening it. You watch a few wrapped ones in stacks of hundred fall out.

"When are you going to start taking the money home, Venus?" Alexa, who goes by Star, asks.

"Star, I have to pass by The Santos every damn night. There is no fucking I can carry about 500 home every night." You answer her as you start to pick up the stacks.

"This club isn't safe either. It's a neutral area for all the gangs, but you can still get taxed by one of them, they will take it all." Aries, an elder stripper who's name is Genesis, informs you.

"I know, I will try to haul this home tonight." You whisper.

You put all the money in the locker. You get changed into a skimpy little outfit that you perform in. You put on your fancy perfume that you wear. You lace up your heels. You close your locker. You make your way out to get to the DJ to give him your set list. It was the same as always. Your routines were typical. You decide to walk around the floor until your turn. You lock eyes with someone in the poorly lit room and suddenly you could put a face to the man. It was the jefe of the Santos, sitting at a table with a beer in his hand. You walk over to him.

"Oh hey y/n," he says.

"It's Venus, while you are here." You inform him.

"Right, anyways, I am sorry for Joker earlier. He's an ass all the time," He tells you.

"It's okay, I can handle Joker. His name is fitting because he's a joke." You say.

The jefe just laughs, "I like you, you're spicy."

"Thanks. Anyways, can you take me home tonight, since you are here?" You ask him.

"Finally taking me up on my offer?" He says.

"I have money to transport from here to my house, and it would be safe to be in your car." You admit.

"How much?"

"It has been awhile since I've taken home money."

"Well, I'll be honored to take you home." He takes out his money and hands you a fifty.

"Why?"

"I want a little dance."

"I don't even know your name."

"Spooky."

"Your real name."

"Oscar."

You proceed to give Oscar a dance, which was a little grinding on his lap, trying to seem interested in the dance. You finish up as your name gets called to the stage. You give him a kiss on the cheek as you get off his lap.

"Till next time, Oscar." You whispered in his ear.

You start to walk to the stage, rolling your eyes slightly. You walk around to get on the stage from the back. You do your routine like second nature. You gather your money and walk back to your locker. You count your money and add Oscar’s fifty to that stack, you toss the money in the locker. You were already ready to go and it was nowhere near 2AM.

The time slowly goes to 1:30, you finish up your last number. Your manager usually made you walk the floor until 2AM. Your eyes dart around the room as you land on the jefe. You walk over to him.

"Can I sit with you in VIP until 2AM?" You ask, hoping that he will give you a chance to hide for the rest of the night.

"Yeah. Sure." He says as he gets up.

You take his hand and walk him over to the VIP Room. You close the stupid little curtain and sit down on the couch. He joins you on the couch.

"How long have you been doing this?" He asks.

"Uh, maybe since I was 19. I thought after 5 years I would be outta Freeridge, but not yet." You answer him.

"It's always 5 years that turn into never." He says with a chuckle.

"How long are you going to be in the Santos for?" You ask.

"Until I meet the perfect hyna."

"Well, maybe don't call her a hyna."

"Eh, I can leave."

"No, stay please. Please."

"You live on a Santo block?"

"Uh, I believe so. It may be in that gray area."

"Jesus y/n. I am risking my life for you?"

"Or you can drop me off at the Santo block and I can walk from there."

"No, I will take you to your home."

"Thanks."

"How much is it to take you home with me?"

Uh, ballsy, "Damn, Joker has a better game than that, vato. I'll never go home with you."

Flash forward to 30 minutes from now to the two of you making out on your porch.

Okay, back to the present time.

"You don't want to sleep with Joker though, right?"

"Of course not, that sounds horrible."

"Good."

You two sit there for about the last 20 minutes. Your eyes just watch him as he sits there, his own eyes not landing on something specific. You were just noticing the small things about the man; his little teardrop tattoo, his plump lips, his missing little patch in his mustache. Your lips pull into a smile. He just sips his beer and bobs his head a little bit to the beat of the music. It was quite adorable. Why did you all of a sudden find the jefe adorable? Maybe it was the fact he is so caring towards you even though you’ve never known his name until a couple of hours ago. Maybe it is the fact he was willing to hide with you until the time was up.

“Well, I am going to tell the bouncer that you are waiting for me. You cannot go backstage, it is for the girls only.” You say as you get up from the couch.

“Wait,” He starts and grabs your hand. “I’ve had fun tonight. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” You say as you jut your hand free from his warm soft hand. Too many adjectives.

You two walk out of the VIP room. You pretend to adjust your outfit to make it seem like something was going on. You walk over to the bouncer. You give the information on Oscar, calling him Spooky of course. You then make your way to the back. You start to change out of your clothes and into street clothes. You grab your bag and start to put all the money into it, it was a lot of money. You then tell everyone goodbye and go find your manager and tell him bye. You walk out to the main floor, seeing Oscar there, chatting up the female bartender, they are laughing. You walk up and tap his shoulder.

“Ready hyna?” He asks.

“Uh, yeah, I am.” You respond.

“See you Leti, I’ll let Sad Eyes know that you miss him.” He tells the bartender.

“See you Spooky.” She grins at him.

You two walk off and out into the cool crisp summer night. He walks over to his impala and you follow. You take a moment to admire the car. It looks like he puts a lot of love into it.

“Your bag.” Oscar asks.

“Oh yeah,” You get pulled from admiration of the car and hand him your bag.

He tosses it into the trunk. You two proceed to get in the car. You give him your address and he drives you home. It was a quiet ride besides the radio playing whatever rap channel Oscar was listening to on his way to the club. He pulls up to your house.

“This is Santos territory.” He comments.

“Thanks for the ride.” You say as you get out of the car and go around to the trunk.

Oscar gets out and opens the trunk and grabs your bag for you. “Let me.”

You roll your eyes, not even hiding it. “Really, it is fine. I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

“Oh shush hyna, let me help.” He closes the trunk and walks up to your front door.

“Fine.” You mumble.

You walk up to the porch with Oscar behind you, looking like a lost puppy almost. You unlock the door and proceed to turn the porch light on. Your hand takes the bag from Oscar and puts it inside the house. You close the door.

"Thank you, you can leave now." You say quietly to him.

"Hey, you don't have to shut me out." He says as his hand goes to grab your hand.

"I am not. I asked you for a ride home, you gave it to me and that's where this ends." You inform him, not moving your hand from his.

"Yeah and returning the favor, I want to hang out with you." He says.

"Not tonight, my feet hurt and I am so damn tired." You say.

You two exchange glances for a moment. You weren't sure if he was going to budge on this. You move yourself closer to him. Just maybe kissing him might make him go away. You bravely lean up to kiss him gently. However, you didn't anticipate the hungry kiss you received back from him. You almost reciprocate the kiss in the same hungry fashion. You didn't realize how much you craved real intimacy. After a few more moments, you part your lips from his, your breathing a little heavy.

"Well, good night." Oscar says as he moves from you and start to head back to his car.

"Good night Oscar." You say as you open your front door and walk in.

You close the door. You take a moment to think about what just happened. Did you like it? What was going on? What changed your opinion on him? You open the door again and sure enough, he is standing on your porch. You just grab his hand and pull him inside of your house, which makes him laugh, for a long night.

#oscar diaz fanfic #oscar diaz #spooky diaz #oscar spooky diaz #spooky diaz fanfic #on my block fanfic #on my block #omb #julio macias fanfic #julio macias

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fukurodaze · 4 years ago

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five stars: prologue - a clear sky

when he meets you in his first year, you fit his definition of annoying - a model student, the façade of perfection. yet, he finds you occupying his mind too often, too soon.

wc: 1.2k warnings: swearing

m.list | next

he’s going to skip.

suna rintarou glances at the clock across the room, foot tapping on the wooden floor of the third year classrooms repeatedly as if in a hurry. except he is in a hurry.

although scouted from the aichi prefecture for his volleyball skills, suna is by no means exempt from his failures in the wondrous subject of physics. but how could anyone blame him - he’s had to get used to the mildly different kansai-ben and make the starting lineup at the volleyball interhighs, not to mention live alone at fifteen.

sometimes he’s thankful for this school, as he’s gotten to play for the summer and spring interhighs even as a first year, but there are also times when the over-glorified “student support program”, also known to suna as the additional hour of bullshit every wednesday from a random third year with a superiority complex, gets up in his schedule.

he is not thankful for this. but he is definitely thankful that whichever senpai he’s been assigned to this semester spares him an extra five minutes to contemplate his purpose in this room.

suna has his arm half-looped around the strap of his backpack, blazer folding at the crease where it stays. slowly, he brings it higher, and eventually slides it onto his shoulder.

“ah, fuck it.”

the boy stands up and brisk walks out the door like it’s life-or-death, his back lowering even more than it usually slouched. his eyes are trained on the door left slightly ajar, and his ears make sure that the only sound comes from the light step of his school shoes against the hardwood floor.

the clock reads 3:15 pm. suna slides the door open.

“hi,” there’s a pause, “class 1-2, suna rintarou?”

shit.

it’s almost like you’ve appeared out of nowhere. you have a calm smile plastered on your face, and by the slow ring of your voice, he can already feel his eyes rolling.

“yes,” suna backs up into the classroom, letting you in. he takes a seat on the frontmost desk in the classroom, watching as you grab a chair to sit across him.

you sit down and rest your elbows on the desk. you have a stack of papers with you, but you set them aside on another table, and he’s convinced this semester to be the one that finally breaks his grade from a 40 to a 37. out of one hundred.

“sorry i’m late,” you shuffle through your bag, “apparently life doesn’t get easier in high school.”

it takes every muscle in suna’s body to not shoot you an eye roll.

you mutter a delighted gasp as you find your phone hidden somewhere inside your bag, and turn back to your assigned ‘student’ to exchange phone numbers in case he ever needed any additional help.

“okay, based on your past papers,” you lean into the desk, a reliable smile on your face, “i guess we can start with the basics? gravity, velocity, all that.”

suna hates how you’re making this session seem like a daycare. “sure.”

“then, suna-san, tell me about volleyball.”

“what?”

three weeks in, and physics might be a lot easier than he’d thought. he’s gotten accustomed to all the vocabulary and formulas, and he thinks he might actually be able to survive this last semester of his first year and keep his chances of going to the may volleyball camp in osaka.

“suna! left!”

the unmistakeable voice of his coach rings loud as a wake up call, reminding him that it’s five pm on a thursday and he’s in the back row of a six-versus-six round with the team.

the ball falls to the floor, and he shouts a short sorry as the opposite side rotates with miya atsumu on the serve. suna’s known him for some time now, and even before he moved to hyogo. he’s heard a lot of him - best setter at the intermiddle nationals, unstoppable with his twin, and a pain in the ass attitude.

to be honest, suna doesn’t think he’s half bad as everyone tells him, although he’d love to throw in a snicker or a funny jab from time to time, for both his and atsumu’s benefit.

atsumu takes a few steps back. the whistle blows, and he throws the ball high up into the air, reaching up and snapping his wrist as he hits the ball. it’s a top spin, and it goes far, up to the back row. suna spots it coming his way, and with a quick step, he sounds, “got it!”. his knees are bent and his arms come together. the ball lands harshly on his wrists, and the words ‘chance ball’ are heard from the other players.

suna’s wrists sting only slightly after having practiced his receives with atsumu’s crazy serves for almost a year now. still, even after familiarising himself with his classmate’s spikes, he thinks that there’s always some bit of luck that goes into receiving them - and strength, because he’s only getting better. it doesn’t help that his jump floaters are three quarters their way to being as nasty as his top spins, either.

he remembers your words; “right! with a top spin serve, the air velocity is faster on the top of the ball rather than on the bottom of the ball, which pushes the ball into a downward motion. we can calculate velocity using the equation v=d/t. so, v for velocity, which equals distance divided by time. for example...”

suna shakes his head as he rotates back into the front row. he almost scoffs out loud, as if scolding himself, in what kind of earth is he living in that has him thinking of physics during volleyball, and why do tutoring sessions with you always seem to go so fast, and how come your voice always sounds so bright, and-

the ball hits the palm of his hand in a clean one-man shutout. the players on his side of the court give him high fives. he tells himself he’ll think about you later.

that night, as suna closes his notebook after another inevitably short-lived round of reviewing for finals, he finds himself zoning out as numbers on worksheets are replaced with other thoughts. suna thinks about volleyball, which now makes him think of physics, which makes him think of you. and seeing as he thinks about volleyball about seventy percent of the time, he ends up thinking about you seventy percent of the time, too.

maybe only fifty percent of the time. but that’s still half of his time having you in the back of his mind while he answers equations, coordinates blocks, and eats with his friends.

he doesn’t know much about you, but he’s found out that you’re one year his senpai, a member of the cheerleading team, a class representative for the student council, and, after a few stares at old bulletin boards, he knows that you’re ranked within the top ten of your grade.

(not that you had told him yourself, since all you talk about with him is physics, but it’s natural to get curious of one’s tutor, right? definitely. of course. always.)

suna wonders if it’s better to fail physics and keep having to spend an hour with you every week or to improve significantly and hear your direct praise.

“this is so stupid,” suna tells himself as he slides under his covers just before midnight.

someone in the house has a little bit of a crush.

(suna lives alone.)

send an ask to be added to the taglist!

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #hq x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou #haikyuu suna #suna x you #suna x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #suna scenarios #haikyuu scenarios

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years ago

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fifty five: yet another leaving song

when the sun goes down the city lights outside overlap with the reflection of my room on the glass such that a column of warmly-lit balconies intersects at a perpendicular angle to the light fixture built into the top of the closet and the clean white of the sheets on this king-sized bed lies where the river would be, if it weren't so dark. it means there's always something to look at, even if it's just another star blinking at me in the distance. like even the city wants me to get to know it better, wants to go on a first date, wants to be remembered.

this morning i left my room for the first time in two weeks. a lady with a leather handbag who is staying on the other side of the hallway and i were led out of our rooms, through a set of gray double doors, and into a service elevator, after which we were deposited in a room with unpainted walls at the end of which was a square of light so bright it almost burnt the last twelve days right out of me. it was the bare skin of the city, the rough, blemished surface, the acne. warm damp air and the smell of flowers and car exhaust. oh yeah, i remembered abruptly. i'm in singapore.

i think we should add mandatory and well-enforced pandemic-era quarantines in five star hotels to the official list of liminal spaces because for the last twelve days i have felt like a suspension bridge built between two countries which know nothing about each other. as pennsylvania fades away to nothing, so does singapore remain a blank space in a notebook that i have written in before. to travel is to go from one place to another. when this path is interrupted by a waypoint, when you have to stop for gas and find yourself held up for three years, you are no longer leaving from. you are simply arriving.

so tomorrow, i arrive. out of this too-bright well-lit hotel room with five buttons on the bedside panel for various lighting implements, and into the life i led before spring. tomorrow i find myself at home, with only a blur of emotion where my memories of the months before should be. hotel logic tells me i should be more wistful. i find myself memorizing the layout of the mini-fridge, what buttons control what lights, the shape of the bathroom counter. within the knowable reaches of my memory staying in a hotel is always associated with the feeling of 'one more day'. but i can barely tell the days apart from each other anymore. how do i begin to distinguish places?

tomorrow home. tonight the last night in this too-big bed with the five pillows, three of which are square-shaped and humongous and two of which are like the ones i'm used to but softer, broader. i'm thinking of the people who brought me my meals every day, who passed through the hallways like a distant kindness to pick up trash, dirty towels, other signs of life. i'm thinking of what it takes to make an operation like this succeed, to keep hundreds of people locked up in hotels rooms for weeks and make sure they keep it together long enough to make it home afterwards. they gave me a room key when i first got here. i never used it.

of all the absurd moments this year has encompassed, from the horrible nine p.m. bus stop confession to the unplanned sleepover, the walk through the woods, the blocked numbers, 'two weeks in the same room' is easily the most memorable. something about this place has dislocated me from my life in america, even more so than the act of simply going home. i am a bone outside of a body, a skin without a skeleton, the aftermath of existence, curious, yearning. i am absurd. in this king-sized world with one floor-to-ceiling window and a mini-fridge that hums like a middle aged man, i am the only thing that matters.

but soon change. tomorrow home. i never see anyone in the balconies outside my window. strange. if i had a balcony i would sit on it every day for hours.

it's all right. i'll just sit here. i'll miss the softness of this bed when i'm gone. sort of like how you miss a person, except i was the person too. i hope whoever stays in this room next doesn't overfill the hot water kettle; it froths up when you do so and spills water everywhere.

07.16.21

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ragingbookdragon · 5 years ago

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Crimes Against The Batfamily

A/N: Aye looks who’s back at it again with a post! TBH I didn't even realize I haven't posted a story in like two weeks. BUT!!! Now I am. This is one you’ve seen before from last year! The playscript! I hope you enjoy! -Thorne <3

Warnings: As usual, explicit language!

(Record scratches as screen comes to life revealing Dick Grayson (Alias Nightwing) and Jason Todd (Alias Red Hood) both holding bloodied rags to their noses. A voice is heard off camera, Bruce Wayne (Alias Batman), causing the boys to roll their eyes.)

Batman: This is incident number eleven of ‘Crimes Against The Batfamily’, parties consisting of Richard John Grayson and Jason Peter Todd, aliases Nightwing and Red Hood. (Sound of voice has shifted, now directed at parties.) What caused the incident? (The two boys glare at each other, neither speaking for a moment, then Red Hood shrugs and replies.)

Red Hood: (Nonchalantly) I don’t know what exactly caused it, but Dickhead punched me and that’s all I know. (Nightwing shouts in indirect anger, pointing at the other.)

Nightwing: (Angrily) No! He called me a fuckboy and I responded! (Red Hood rolls his eyes, looking off as he mutters under his breath.)

Red Hood: Classic trait of a fuckboy…they anger easily. (Party turns to other, voice in mock sincereness.) Maybe you should go see a therapist about your anger issues Dickhead. It’s not nice to punch other people. (Nightwing spins to look at the other, rising from his seat.)

Nightwing: (Intimidatingly) You wanna see anger issues?! I’ll give you anger issues! (Party launches itself at the other, and the two fall to the floor, shouts of anger and sounds of fists reach the recorder.)

Red Hood: (Blocking a punch from Nightwing.) It’s not my fault you get angry when someone calls you out for sleeping around! (Cries in pain.) Let go of my hair you dick!

Nightwing: I do not sleep around!

Red Hood: (Scoffing) Oh really?! Because I know of like ten different people who beg to differ!

(At this point, Batman intervenes, pulling the two apart, and the recorder fades to black. The screen brightens again, and a young boy, Tim Drake (Alias Red Robin) is seen, upper body sprawled halfway across the table, eyes staring off into the distance. A voice is heard, and a figure, Bruce Wayne (Alias Batman) appears, taking a seat across from the boy.)

Batman: (Sighing quietly) This is incident number thirty-one of ‘Crimes Against Family’, party consisting of Timothy Jackson Drake, alias Red Robin. (Batman reaches forward, gently nudging Red Robin on the head.) Red Robin, what caused the incident? (The boy jerks up, and shouts while gesturing to himself.)

Red Robin: (Admittingly) It was me! It was all me! I did it! (He looks at Batman, and hisses) And I’m not sorry about it. (Batman watches, then leans forward, voice soft.)

Batman: (Calmly) Red Robin you didn’t do anything. That’s why we’re here. (Party sits down, confusion on their face.)

Red Robin: (Disbelief) Wait what? What do you mean, ‘I didn’t do anything’?

Batman: Red Robin, you’ve been staring at a wall for the past six hours. You haven’t even- (Batman cuts off, shaking his head.) Wait, how long has it been since you’ve slept? (Red Robin shrugs.)

Red Robin: Dunno…fifty-six hours, give or take an hour. (He waves a hand around.) I don’t keep track. (Batman folds his hands together, eyes shutting.)

Batman: (Exasperated) Red Robin, how about you take a nap? (Red Robin gives a mock salute, already laying back on the table.)

Red Robin: Aye-Aye boss man.

(Batman lets out another sigh, and the screen fades once more. The recorder turns on again, and this time, two boys, Jason Todd (Alias Red Hood) and Damian Wayne (Alias Robin) are sitting handcuffed to the table. Bruce Wayne (Alias Batman) sits across from them.)

Batman: (Tiredly) This is incident number eighty-eight of ‘Crimes Against Family’, parties consisting of Jason Peter Todd, alias Red Hood, and Damian Wayne, alias Robin. (He reaches forward, tugging the cuffs to make sure they’re secure.) What caused the incident? (Neither party says a word. Red Hood is staring off into the distance, Robin is glaring at the camera. Batman clears his throat, repeating his question.) I said, what caused the incident? (Robin scoffs, leaning forward.)

Robin: (Confidently) I did nothing. I am innocent. (Red Hood snorts, turning to look at him.)

Red Hood: (Amusingly) You’re about as innocent as I am pint-sized. (Party leans forward, getting face to face with the other and speaks menacingly.) Which is…Not. At. All. (Robin glares at the other, and Batman flips a paper onto the table, reading off it.)

Batman: It says here that you two got into a fight over personal workspace.

Red Hood: (Rolling his eyes and muttering annoyed.) He started it. (The cuffs jerk against the table, and all eyes move to the small boy.)

Robin: (Whispering frostily) Take the cuffs off and I will finish it.

Red Hood: (Mockingly) And how are you gonna do that? Nip at my heels like the little ankle-biter you are? (Robin lets out a cry of anger, hands reaching for the older boy only to be stopped by the cuffs. He turns to Batman, fury in his voice.)

Robin: (Enraged) Father I demand retribution against Todd! He is mocking me!

Red Hood: (Copying the other party’s words wryly.) ‘Father I demand retribution against Todd…he is mocking me…’ (Party faces the other, smirking sarcastically.) Keep yipping ankle-biter. He might care one day.

(A long run of beeps sound in the recorder as Robin screams explicit words at the other party. Batman puts his head in his hands, and the recorder goes dark. When the screen appears again, four boys, Dick Grayson (Alias Nightwing), Jason Todd (Alias Red Hood), Tim Drake (Alias Red Robin), and Damian Wayne (Alias Robin), are sitting at the table. It is important to note that Tim Drake and Damian Wayne have been separated by Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, the two younger boys sitting at the ends while the two older boys sit in the middle. Bruce Wayne (Alias Batman) is sitting across from them, a weary look on his face.)

Batman: This is… (He sighs, running a hand down his face.) incident number one-hundred-twenty-two of ‘Crimes Against Family’… (He shuts his eyes, muttering to himself.) Christ how many are we gonna have? (Batman shakes his head, returning to the task.) Parties consisting of Richard John Grayson, alias Nightwing, Jason Peter Todd, alias Red Hood, Timothy Jackson Drake, alias Red Robin, and Damian Wayne, alias Robin. (Eyeing the others, he asks) What caused the incident? (None of the boys respond, prompting him to switch tactics.) I promise that if you just tell me what happened, you won’t get in trouble. (Nightwing and Red Hood are looking away, Red Robin is staring at his hands, but Robin’s eyes briefly meet Batman’s. Batman leans closer, urging him to speak.) You can tell me Robin, I won’t get upset. (Robin considers his words for a moment, then his mouth opens. Before he can speak, an arm rests along his chest and he looks over at Red Hood who is shaking his head.)

Red Hood: (Warningly) Snitches get stiches. (Robin blinks, then frowns.)

Robin: Did you just threaten me with bodily harm for telling the truth? (Another arm rests on his chest and he looks over to see Nightwing grinning at him.)

Nightwing: There’s no truth to tell, because we didn’t do anything kiddo. (Robin seems to understand what he is being told, and he turns back to Batman.)

Robin: I have nothing to say Father. We have not done anything. (Batman narrows his eyes at the four and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. He simply stares at them, waiting for something. A ping sounds from somewhere in the room, causing the boys to glance at Batman who smiles, pulling something from his belt.)

Batman: (Apologetically) Sorry, I should get that. (He scans the small device, and Red Robin’s eyes widen as he leans forward.)

Red Robin: Hey! That’s my communicator! (Batman looks at the device then back to him.)

Batman: (Confused) Are you sure? It was left on my desk. (Red Robin nods as the device pings again.)

Red Robin: Yeah, it’s mine. (Batman nods.)

Batman: So then you want it back? (He reads the screen again.) Looks like Conner and Bart are meeting up for pizza later, they want you to go. (He eyes Red Robin, smiling.) I’d be willing to part with it…for information on what happened. (Red Robin begins to squirm in his seat and lets out a small groan. Red Hood leans forward, glaring at him.)

Red Hood: (Threateningly) Don’t you dare Timberly. (Red Robin turns to him.)

Red Robin: …Jason… (Red Hood shakes his head.)

Red Hood: He’s manipulating you Tim. Don’t give in. (Red Robin seems to have an inner battle until he looks back at Batman.)

Red Robin: I can meet up with them later. We didn’t do anything. (Batman nods, eyes moving to Red Hood, who is staring at the ceiling.)

Batman: Red Hood… (He’s cut off by Red Hood who chuckles and shakes his head.)

Red Hood: You might as well move on to Dickhead, old man. (He tips his head up, looking at Batman.) ‘Cause I ain’t got shit to talk about. (Batman raises his hands in defeat, turning to Nightwing who meets his gaze head on.)

Batman: Nightwing.

Nightwing: (Nodding) Batman.

Batman: You’re not going to talk, are you?

Nightwing: (Shaking his head, his voice firm.) I don’t have anything to hide. (He gestures to the others.) Neither do they. We didn’t do anything. (The others nod in unison, and Batman watches for a moment before sighing and nodding.)

Batman: Alright…I guess I can’t win. (He rises from the table but pauses and looks down at them.) I don’t think I tell you all enough… (He smiles sincerely.) I’m proud of each of you. (He turns away, making his way to the door when a cry of defeat sounds from behind.)

Red Robin: It was Dick and Jason! They started it and got Damian and I in on it! (Two shouts of indignation sound followed by a voice of agreement.)

Robin: Drake is right! Richard and Todd thought joyriding in the Batmobile would be fun and we got pulled in on it! (Red Hood lets out a gasp and turns to them.)

Red Hood: (Disbelief) You little snitches!

Red Robin: (Scoffing at Red Hood) Oh, you had it coming Jason! You’re the one who broke the vase in the hallway!

Red Hood: That was an accident! (He turns his attention to Batman, now watching the scene unfold.) Timber set the fire in the kitchen last week! (He points at Robin.) And the demon is the one who hacked the cameras at the gala!

Robin: That was Richard!

Nightwing: (He stares at Robin as if he’d been slapped, then points at Red Hood) Jason is the one who pantsed Two-Face last night!

Red Hood: (Pointing at Nightwing) You dared me to do it!

Nightwing: (Speaking knowingly) You could’ve said no.

Red Hood: (Incredulously) And be your bitch for a whole day because I was too much of a sissy to do a dare?! (Glowering at Nightwing at spitting.) Fuck. That. We do our dares like badasses!

(The four boys continue shouting out faults that have occured, resulting in a free-for-all that has an unimpressed Batman turning to the camera, his finger shifting to find the off switch. Sounds of fighting reach the recorder, and the screen goes black.)

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bloodieorchid · 5 years ago

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Cafe Rouge - CH 2

Cafe Rouge - Chapter Two : Cortado

Next ->

<- Last

<- First

A college student finds a job at an elusive coffee and book shop after the disappearance of the past barista. Only after the interview and many confidentiality agreements do you begin to learn the secrecy behind Café Rouge.

YANDERE MALE x READER, YANDERE FEMALE X READER, YANDERE NB X READER

CW: This story will contain dark subject matter regarding stalking, abuse, violence, the yandere tag in general, and more to be added as this story is written and updated. I, as a writer, do NOT condone any of the activities in this story and only seek to write a horror romance. All pronouns are gender neutral so everyone can read and imagine themselves in the story.

“Now, you need to steam the milk off center so it makes a vortex,” Knight called out as you cupped your hands around the silver milk pitcher. “Hold the handle, but touch the bottom. Once it gets too hot to hold anymore, you’re done.” Knight called and the steam wand powered on, roaring and whistling like a train going under a bridge. Your fingers felt the temperature rise and grow until it burned and you quickly turned off the steam wand. Knight walked over, whirling the milk in the picture and hitting it against the wood counter of the bar.

Knight took a shot of espresso and poured it into a small glass, slightly larger than a shot glass. He then filled it with the steamed milk, pouring slowly to allow the milk to make designs on the surface. He set down the cup to reveal a series of hearts within each other. “That’s how you make a cortado with a rosetta,” Knight smiled as he gave you the cup, letting you sip. It was bitter, but creamy from the steamed milk and slightly sweet. You smiled into the cup. “It’s good, might not be my taste though,” you explained. He nodded. “The first cortado is always an interesting one, but good once you get used to the bitterness,” he explained.

The shop had closed down, allowing you to train for the evening and to get grips on the espresso machine. Knight was assisting while Bishop counted the day’s tips and cash drawer. “So, are those all of the usual regulars?” you asked politely while rinsing the cortado glass. “No, we have a couple others, those three or four come in near every day. Willow always comes in to study, but only really stays for an hour or two. Mr. Arnold gets his morning cup of espresso, sometimes he gets a drink to go before he heads to work as a realtor. Then, Mona gets all of the drinks for the Mayor’s office since she’s the new girl over there.” Knight, no Shane explained.

“We also have a couple of regulars who only come in when specific baristas work. Mr. Arnold always comes in the mornings around when I come in. There’s another girl named Queen who has a whole crowd of guys who come in the afternoons.” Shane explained as he wiped down the bar and prepped to clean the espresso machine. “No one knows she’s a lesbian though, that’s how she prefers it. She leaves with always close to fifty or a hundred dollars in tips alone,” he commented with a chuckle. “Fifty or a Hundred? In just tips?” you astonishingly called out. “The record for most tips goes to an old barista we used to have called Check. On his last day before graduating, he left with nearly three hundred dollars in tips. The people who come here have their unapologetic favorites. Check even comes in sometimes, he now works down the block for the one of the lawyers in town,” Mr. Bishop called out as he finished counting the money.

Mr. Bishop turned around with two pastry bags with the words ‘Rook’ and ‘Knight’ written on them. “Tips for today,” he explained. You gently grabbed your tips before you looked at the large number written in sharpie of ‘64.32′. You stared at the total before nodding and putting it gently back in your bag. “Make sure you be careful on your walk home, Mx. (L/N).” Mr. Bishop called out as you slung your bag over your shoulder. You nodded, “Don’t worry, Mr. Bishop. It’s a straight shot home,” you smiled reassuringly. You couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the owner of the shop, worrying about the safety of all of his employees after what happened to Laura. He nodded. “See you in the morning,” he bid you farewell before turning back into the office.

You stepped out of the door, into the light filled street of Ravenswood. You sighed in the fresh air, seeing your breath from the October chill. You wrapped your jacket tighter around you. It wasn’t winter coat season yet, but it was close enough where a jacket was needed. You hurried home, walking along the street and glancing into the windows of fancy restaurants, boutiques, and offices. You glanced at your reflection in the glass, pausing for a moment to see how your cheeks were flushed from the cold and felt warm. You sighed softly, rubbing your hands to your cheeks.

Suddenly, you heard a crash to your left. You glanced over to find a dark alley, just barely out of the light of the street. You looked around, the street empty of pedestrians and only one car drove past in the past minutes. You slowly walked to the alleyway, hoping for a cat or something falling out of the window. However, there wasn’t anything in the alley that you could see. You turned on your phone’s flashlight and walked down into the alleyway. You weren’t met with a car or a lost cat jumping to freedom from a fire escape.

On the ground below you was a small box, wrapped in newspaper with a black bow. You looked around before picking up the box. You noticed a small tag on the bow, pulling it up to reveal ‘to Rook <3′. You frowned in confusion, standing up before moving the bow and opening the box. Inside, was a single tarot card.

There in the box sat card number I, the Fool. A vagabond or explorer traveling into the unknown, unfazed by the dangers. Covered in gold, but a picture of your face had been taped over the Fool’s and your eyes were covered in tape. Accompanying this was a small note tucked underneath.

“Travel carefully, little Rook. You wander further and further out of the light. It will be a shame when you find yourself trapped in the darkness.

Your new admirer, Reti”

You held the box in confusion, looking around for a sign of who dropped the box and becoming more and more anxious when -

“(Y/N)?”, you turned quickly to reveal your coworker Shane. “What is.....” he quickly made steps toward you and saw the box and immediately frowned. “We need to show that to Mr. Bishop, now,” he said, looking at you harshly. “D-Do you know who sent this, Shane?” you asked confused. “Someone from the shop, I assume they called you Rook?” he asked. You nodded and handed him the box. “Come on,” he lead you back to the shop and opened the door.

“We’re closed,” Mr. Bishop called from the back. “Sir, (Y/N) found another box. It was addressed to ‘Rook’,” Shane called out. Mr. Bishop stepped into the front. “They’ve worked two days.” he said as he walked to the counter. He frowned as he saw the box and squinted at the note. “I don’t understand, who sent this?” you asked, looking at your new boss.

“I wanted to let you get settled in before you started to deal with this stuff. Someone from the shop likes you and wants you to know it.” Mr. Bishop frowned as he flipped the tarot card. “This doesn’t exactly seem friendly, Mr. Bishop,” you rebutted and rubbed your cold arms. “It’s not, while the majority of our shop is full of nice people most days, we’ve apparently attracted a clientele of the occult and people who have probably broken the law,” Shane commented while frowning.

“Well, it’s simple. We just go to the police, and they find this mystery stalker,” you commented as you stood tall. Mr. Bishop looked at you, “We tried that last time, but whoever took Laura got her after we got the police involved. They didn’t care about attention, they wanted her for some reason.”

“This means....”

“You’ve peaked someone’s interest, (Y/N) and we need to find out who before you end up like Laura,”

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #female yandere x reader #yandere female x reader #yandere male x reader #gn yandere #gn reader #stalker #coffee shop fic #comment who you think the yandere is #original work

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ladynestaarcheron · 5 years ago

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eleven

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost (ff.net isn’t working for me rn, so i’ll update chapter eleven there probably tomorrow)

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

hey hey hey!! i’m back with chapter eleven after only two weeks!! i was actually procrastinating writing my poetry essay and working on my novel by writing this, so that counts as productivity, right?

thanks to my fantabulous beta @thestarwhowishes and thank to you all for reading!! i am just floored by all of your support, it means so much to me!!

(and psst!! if you like my writing maybe try out my sideblog where i post original content @liorzoewrites)

anyway, chapter eleven! enjoy!

---

November 2 - 4 years after

When Hazar finally arrives at the shop, Maz, Amir, and Xeyale start to tell the whole staff what happened at Amalike Orchards’ berry fair.

“Chokecherry already had booths set up when we got there,” Maz says, grimacing. “With Morrisey’s new novel.”

“And they had agents with them,” Xeyale adds.

Adil frowns. “What do you mean, agents?”

“Publishing agents.”

“They were signing authors at the fair?” Hazar asks, disbelief all over his normally cheerful face.

“Not exactly,” Xeyale says.

“They were taking in manuscripts,” Amir says. “For short stories, we think. We think their plan is to publish a collection of them.”

“And that’s their brilliant archiving strategy?” Nesta says. “Just taking any short story from any writer who shows up at the berry fair and tying it all together into a book?” She shares a look with Adil. No one appreciates the art of literature anymore.

“It is a brilliant strategy,” Hazar says, reluctant to admit it.

“We think so, too,” Amir says, and Xeyale nods behind them. Before any of them can protest, Amir raises their hands in surrender. “Look, you’re all archivists. Readers. Some of you are writers. But from publishing and marketing standpoints...it goes faster. If one author writes a three hundred page novel, that one author has to have a good idea and a good execution. Or people won’t buy it. But if you get ten authors each writing thirty pages...even if four of them aren’t that great, people will still buy it for the sixth.”

“Or one big name author with a few other smaller ones,” Hazar says. “That’ll sell just the same.”

“But the same number of books get sold,” Adil says. “Don’t they lose money, with all the authors they have to pay per book?”

“More books get sold,” Hazar says.

“It suits a larger audience,” Nesta realizes. “So more people buy it.” Because those six authors they’ll buy the book for are different authors for everyone.

Sometimes Nesta hates individual taste. Especially if it’s poor.

Adil puts his head in his hands. “How many publishing agents do they have?”

“Not many,” Maz says. “We only saw three at the fair.”

“For all those new authors?”

“I imagine the authors aren’t treated very well,” Hazar says, frowning slightly. “But they might not care, if they get published quickly.”

“That’ll be bad for them in the long run, though,” Leyla says, speaking up.

“I agree with you, but again, they might not care.”

“Do we have to start publishing short story collections?” Zeyn asks.

Nesta thinks about what would go into that. They would need to find so many new authors. Sugar Books--and Adil--believes in the separation of genre, so they couldn’t just cram any random ten stories together. It would go against their idea of what the literary world should be. What would that take, to find a variety of authors who write on the same subject, with the enough of the same general style to create harmony, but each unique enough to justify its presence in the book?

She shivers involuntarily, very thankful for Cassian’s shared account.

"We’ll definitely have to start signing more authors,” Adil decides. “We’ll...send out scouts.”

“To Chokecherry?” Maz says.

“No,” Adil says. “But everywhere else. Where authors frequent. We’ll have to go overtime on reading manuscripts. But we will not--” he slams his hand down on the table quite suddenly, startling them all “--compromise on the integrity and quality of literature.”

“Hear, hear!” Zeyn calls, and Nesta suppresses a smile. He catches it and winks at her.

“We’ll split up. Xeyale, Amir, and Nesta, you’ll stay and run the shop. Hazar, you stay here, too, and wait for our new clients. Miri and I will go to Berries’ Rivers, Maz, you go to Privet Falls, Leyla, Wintergreen Glen, and Zeyn, Juniper Hills. We’re talent scouting. Find places authors frequent, approach them, if they’re any good, send them here.” He looks at them all intently.

Zeyn and Nesta exchange a glance.

“Ah, Adil,” Zeyn says, rather timid. “You do know that that’s insane, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, already making to leave the room and go back to his office.

“All the gods,” Hazar says, standing up. “I’ve got to go get a cup of coffee.” And he leaves too.

“I mean, that’s insane, right?” Zeyn says.

“I think we’re all in agreement of that, yes,” Leyla says, nodding.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Miri says.

They all look at her.

"Maybe it’s time for a change,” she defends. “Maybe this is the way to do it. This is what they do in the acting industry, right?”

“But this isn’t the acting industry.”

“He’s really stressed about this,” Miri says. “He doesn’t want this place to lose anymore than Chokecherry has already taken from it.” He doesn’t want any of you to lose anymore than Chokecherry has taken, she doesn’t say, but they all see it in her eyes. “I think it will work.” She stands. “And at any rate...it’s what we’re doing.” She leaves.

“I hate what this is doing to everyone,” Maz complains, and Nesta hates to agree with him, but she does too.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be the only archivist while you’re all off turning into the acting industry,” she says, shaking her head.

Zeyn and Leyla laugh.

"Don’t worry,” Xeyale says, grinning at her. “We’ll be here to keep you company.”

“A real comfort,” she says dryly. She stands too. “Well, I suppose we’ve got work to do. We need to find all the places...authors frequent.” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, in a fifty mile radius,” Maz grumbles. “This is never going to work.”

“Don’t say that,” Zeyn says lightly. “It might. And wouldn’t it be great? To discover new talent like that?”

Nesta knows the question isn’t directed at her, but she wonders anyway--what would it be like? In publishing? She didn’t think she’d like archiving before she started; she thought reading was the only thing she enjoyed.

That’s not something she can explore now, though, and that’s why Adil is having her stay here. So she shakes herself and goes to find maps of the surrounding towns.

---

November 20 - Year of

She avoided him for days after she snapped. He caught her in the living room when she came back from work one day.

“Wait, Nesta,” he said, jumping to his feet as soon as she walked in.

Nesta stifled a groan. She didn’t want to have this conversation.

She didn’t like that tentative, detached politeness. She was angry.

(And Cassian was anything but tentative and detached. It felt abnormal sharing that with him.)

“Please,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Nesta said stiffly, “Don’t worry about it,” and tried to push past him.

“No, Nesta,” he said, raising his hands and blocking her path to the hallway. “Not for breakfast. I mean, yes for breakfast, but also...for everything. For bringing you here. For...leaving you here.”

She froze. He did too.

She moved her eyes from his face. She couldn’t look at him.

Why was everything so hot all of a sudden?

“I...should have known this wasn’t the right thing to do,” he said, slowly, carefully. Nesta could tell he was thinking hard about each word before he said it. “To bring you here and leave you alone. Here, of all places. We thought...I thought it would be good for you. I thought...you would have space and maybe you would want to train and that would be a good outlet for you the same way it is for me and you’d get....”

Better, he didn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse and Nesta was scared to look at him so she didn’t.

He sat back down. “That’s...all I wanted to say,” he said lamely.

Nesta kept her eyes averted as she nodded slightly and ducked into the hall, into her room, shutting the door behind her.

He apologized.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

And he certainly seemed sorry--just by his voice, of course, because she hadn’t seen his face.

He’d thought she might want to train...he didn’t know her at all, clearly. And he hadn’t mentioned all of it; not all that happened in Velaris and the fact that she was this thing now, but she was glad of it, because all he did say was nearly too much to bear.

And she couldn’t spend the rest of her night going over everything, playing it all back in her head until she knew the words by heart, so she tried to best to put it all out of her mind.

Because...was she supposed to forgive him now?

---

November 2 - 4 years after

The staff is gone later that day, as Adil is determined to discover five brilliant new authors before the month is over. Nesta is glad Miri is going with him; she might talk some sense into him.

“Does he actually think Gilameyva’s just bleeding ingenious writers?” Leyla had muttered to her before they all left.

Nesta laughed a little. “He’s just anxious,” she said, echoing Miri.

"I can’t believe I have to go to Wintergreen Glen. It’s so boring.”

"Well, maybe you’ll find a whole new world to fall into.”

"Right. I’m sure we’ll find the next Morrissey in Wintergreen Glen.”

"Why not?” Zeyn had said, appearing next to them. “Morrisey’s from Privet Falls.”

And Morrissey, Nesta thinks to herself as she walks back home, isn’t even that great of a writer.

She doesn’t have to pick up the children from nursery because Cassian’s already got them. It’s quite nice, actually, to be able to spend a little while longer at work locking up and stop for a coffee from Jamal’s without worrying too much.

Aysel is there, too, and she walks back with her. “So,” she says to her, eager to get to the point after what was surely a painful exchange of pleasantries for the town’s resident busybody, “I hear that Cassian of yours has been staying for quite some time.”

"He comes and goes.”

"He’s been here a week.”

“That’s true,” she says.

“I saw him today. He picked the children up. Oh, they’re so cute, you know. Just the sweetest little things.”

“I agree with you.”

“You do such a good job with them!”

“Thank you, Aysel.”

“I remember when they were born. Ooh, Ollie was so tiny, do you remember?”

“Their birth?” Nesta laughs. “Vividly.”

Aysel laughs too, in that hurried way she always does. “Of course, of course. He’s so big now.”

“He is,” she agrees. She can’t believe it, sometimes, how much they have grown in three years. Especially Ollie; he had been so small.

“And his father,” Aysel says, in a tone she thinks is supposed to be sly. “Well, he’s not small, is he?”

“He’s tall,” Nesta says neutrally.

“ Very tall. Probably the tallest person in Sugar Valley, ever.”

“We had some tall people in for the last Berry Fair.”

“Tallest one now.”

“Probably.”

“How tall do you think your boys are going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Ava?”

“Taller than I am, I hope.”

“Oh, don’t say that, dearie. You’re such a darling height.”

They reach their street then, and Nesta might’ve invited her for strawberry tea and jam, but she’s not going to. Confirming personally that Cassian is her children’s father to Aysel is one thing, inviting her inside to meet him is quite another.

“Well, have a good evening, Aysel,” she says.

“You too, dearie. Kisses to the babies!”

She waves at her over her shoulder and strides up to her porch.

She might’ve guessed something is wrong by the fact that she can’t hear any noise from the inside, but she knows for sure because Cassian rips the door open as soon as she reaches it. His face is pale.

Nesta’s heart drops. “What is it?” A million different scenarios run through her mind, each one worse than the last.

“Come inside,” is all he says.

They rush up the stairs, Nesta’s pulse going faster than it ever has before when he leads her up the stairs and to her children’s bedroom. She braces herself as best she can for when she goes inside, but she knows there isn’t a good way to prepare.

But they’re all there...whole. In three perfect pieces. Nicky and Ollie laying in the beds, Avery standing in between them, her hand on Nicky’s form.

She looks at Cassian, his face still ashen. “What?” she asks.

His eyes widen. “They’re sick!”

Nesta throws a hand to her forehead. For mercy’s sake. “Don’t,” she says, rubbing her temples, “ever deliver news to me that way.”

Her heartbeat back to normal, she joins Avery in the middle of her sons’ beds. She settles herself on her knees and pulls her close. She doesn’t feel hot.

"How are you feeling, ladybug?”

"Good,” she says, slightly muffled against Nesta’s body. She looks up at her. “Nicky and Ollie are sick.”

"Yes,” she says, nodding. Then she looks at Cassian. “It’s flu season.”

"Emilia’s sick, too.”

"Yes,” she says, still looking pointedly at Cassian. “Probably the flu, poor thing.”

He glares at her, but she can see his coloring darkens slightly, which probably would have delighted her once.

She doesn’t hate it, now.

She puts her hand on Nicky’s forehead and then Ollie’s. A fever, each of them. Ollie is sleeping soundly, and Nicky seems like he’ll fall asleep soon.

"Mummy will bring you something to drink,” she whispers to him, dropping a kiss on his forehead.

She leads Avery and Cassian out of the room.

“I don’t want to be sick.”

“You won’t,” she assures her. “You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want my brothers to be sick.”

Nesta feels the same rush of overwhelming emotion she always does when her children express how much they love each other. “Don’t worry,” she says to her, smiling. “They’ll be better soon. Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she says to Cassian when she’s gone. “Do you know what went through my head?”

"They’re sick!”

“Children get sick! People get sick! They’ll get better!”

“Well, I’ve never had children get sick before!”

Nesta softens at the fear in his voice, shining through his eyes as well. “They’ll be fine,” she says in a more gentle tone. “It’ll be a few days...it’s properly miserable to see them, but they’ll be fine. I only don’t want to keep Avery here...I don’t want her to get sick, too. Normally I’d ask Miri and Adil,” she says, talking more to herself. “But they’re gone, and I can’t ask Amorette. I guess I’ll keep her in my room. Oh, and I’ll have to stay here. Oh, but I’m alone at the store....”

"You’re alone at the store?”

"Yes, Adil’s got everyone traipsing around the country, looking for authors,” she says, waving a hand. “Unless...when are you going back?”

“Not before they’re better.”

Nesta straightens. That was the right answer. “Well, could you watch them during the day?”He nods, his expression casual, but Nesta can tell he’s terrified.

"It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says. “I’ll show you which medication to give them, how often. I’ll make soup. They’ll need fluids. Oh, and Nicky can’t have plain water when he’s sick, he’ll need tea...I’ll write this down for you...but it’s not like I’m going to be leaving you alone,” she adds at the sight of him. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Just work.”

“I know,” he says. Hesitates. “I just...”

“What?”

“I’m...worried.”

Nesta puts down the pen she’s picked up and crosses the room to his side. She moves her hand to take his, but thinks better of it. “You don’t need to. They’ll be fine. So will you. You’ve been...” her eyes dart around the room, but she meets his gaze when she says, “very helpful. This week.”

His head lifts slightly, and that all-too-familiar cocky grin appears. “Yeah?”

“Yes. In fact...” Now Nesta hesitates. “Maybe...if you would feel comfortable...you could spend the night with Avery at Miri’s house?”

His grin slides off his face.

“If it’s too soon,” she says quickly, “then--you know what? Forget--”

“No!” he says. “No, I can! I can--sure. At Miri’s...yes. I can. I know what she needs. I can...yes.”

“All right,” she says, relieved somewhat. “I’ll...make you a list.”

“Okay.”

“And...she’ll have flying lessons tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to go with her? And I’ll stay home with the boys?”

Nesta’s never seen his eyes light up the way they do now.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She didn’t feel exactly ill, but she felt off. Like the world had been tilted a few degrees. She had been hungrier than normal for her the past week or so, but it’s not till that day she wondered if something was wrong with her.

Only briefly. Then she pushed the thought aside. Things were going well, and she didn’t need to look for something to be upset about.

"Good morning, Nesta,” Zeyn greeted her cheerfully. How was he always so happy all the time? It was jarring.

"Hello, Zeyn,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Headache?”

“No...” she said, because her head didn’t hurt, it just felt...weird. “Just tired.” Perhaps that was it.

“I’ve got a lot of new books today. Maybe you’d like to read one. Do you like mystery?”

“It’s all right,” she said. Most mystery novels were predictable to her. “I’ve got to finish mine, though.”

“How have you been with all those?” he asked, following her to the back room.

All that is Holy, she thought. “It’s going well, thanks.” It was reading. And fixing up books. And setting a price. As long as you could read, it wasn’t hard.

“I just get so overwhelmed sometimes,” he said. “You know, all those books. In such a short amount of time. And how do you set a price!”

“Length and demand,” she said, frowning slightly. How else would you set a price?

“Yes, but it’s hard to foresee demand at a store that sells used books,” he said. “I imagine it’s even more so for you, because human-authored books are so unpopular. Not that they aren’t good! Just so, I guess, uncommon. Yes, that’s the word. It’s rare to come across one. But now that the Wall is down, we might trade more. It’d be really fascinating, don’t you think, to see what books are popular with humans. Don’t you think? Nesta?”

“Just...” Nesta said, “I. Oh. Oh, I have to...” she trailed off, not being able to hear herself suddenly.

“Here, lie down.” She could feel a pair of warm, strong hands lower her gently to the ground. Oh, it felt so-- wrong , to be touched like that. By another male’s hands. Oh, she didn’t like it...

The room was spinning. She could hear more voices. Emerie was yelling. No, not Emerie. Not Emerie, right? Who was that? Who was speaking?

Someone was saying her name. Someone...but she couldn’t hear.

And then she couldn’t see.

---

November 2 - 4 years after

Cassian’s still has yet to regain his power of speech, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava keeps the conversation going on her own.

“And I will put my horse here, and I will put my dog here, and I will put my owl here...” she sing-songs, placing her stuffed animals in various spots on the bed he has set up for her in Miri’s house.

She’s ready to go to sleep, after being fed and bathed at Nesta’s house. But she wants to set up the room the way she likes it first.

"And I want...my giraffe.”

“Your giraffe?” Cassian repeats, looking around. “I don’t see...”

“Nicky has it.”

“Nicky has it?”

“Yes.”

“But Nicky’s at home.”

“Let’s go get it.”

“Well,” he says, wishing Nesta were here, “we’ll go home tomorrow morning, and we’ll bring your giraffe then.”

Ava looks outraged. “I want it now!”

She hadn’t mentioned this. Nesta didn’t say anything about a giraffe. And he’s never been out with Ava before; how was he supposed to know? “But...we’ll let Nicky have it. Because he’s sick. Just for tonight.” Maybe that tactic will work?

Ava considers it. “Tomorrow I will get my giraffe?”

He’s nothing if not strategic. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

Ava thinks some more. “All right, tomorrow.”

Cassian breathes a sigh of relief. Ava’s been throwing crisis after crisis at him. He feels like a novice, back when he did simulations. When his commanders had given them every possible thing that could go wrong, all at the same time. There was an Illyrian expression that loosely translated into “difficult training makes for an easy battle”--but there is no training for parenting and it is by no definition an easy battle.

“Tell me a story,” she orders him when he finally convinces her to get into bed.

Cassian nods. Nesta had told him one as they packed, reciting the important lines a few times over for him to memorize. “I’ll tell you the one about Jack,” he says.

“No, I don’t want Jack.”

Fantastic.

"Well,” he says, trying to keep a level head. “What...story do you want?”

“Not a Mummy story.”

“What’s a Mummy story? Oh, not one of Mummy’s stories.” She wants one of his? Nesta wouldn’t like him telling any Illyrian tales...and he doesn’t think it’s a particularly good idea either. “Maybe...” Cassian rack his brain. He has stories, doesn’t he? One of them must be child-friendly. Or he can edit it to make it so.

Had he ever gone on some sort of quest that didn’t end in bloodshed?

“Not too long ago,” he says, in the way Illyrian tales always start, realizing as he begins that it’s quite eerie, but no matter, “there was a male who loved a female very much. And the female loved...very much...more than anything in the world...chocolate.”

Ava laughs. “I love chocolate!”

“You do? Well, the female loved chocolate so much, but there was one type of chocolate she loved more than all the others. But she hadn’t had it since she was a little girl, and she now lived very far away from the place where they made it. One day, she was very sad...and he knew only that chocolate would make her happy again. So he decided he would travel to find it.

“He had to cross an ocean and many lands, for only one tiny little town across the world made this exact kind of chocolate. When he got to the tiny town, he searched and searched for the chocolate shop. And then...he found it. And he bought some chocolate...and he brought it home...and then the female was happy again,” he finishes lamely.

Ava looks at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t blame her. Although in his defense, it had been more exciting when it had actually happened.

“Tell it again!” she says.

He does, trying to make it sound better this time around, but he isn’t very good at it. He might’ve laced the story with bits and pieces of other (real) quests he had been on, but he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say.

After the second time, Ava looks at him thoughtfully. “That was not a good story,” she tells him.

He laughs a little. “I’m sorry. Should I tell you the story about Jack?”

“Yes!”

He recites the story Nesta had told him, exactly the way she had instructed, and Ava is thrilled. She laughs and claps along.

"Again!” she says when he finishes. And again and again.

Until he says, “It’s time for you to go to sleep, now, Ava.”

"So let’s go home.”

“We’re sleeping here tonight, Ava, remember?”

To his horror, her eyes well up with tears. “I want to go home with Mummy and Nicky and Ollie.”

“Don’t cry,” he says, fretting. “Don’t--it’s okay, don’t--oh....”

“I don’t--want--to stay here,” she sobs. “I want to go home!”

“I’m sorry...we’ll go home tomorrow, Ava.”

“I want my giraffe!”

“But we said we’d let Nicky have the giraffe tonight, don’t you remember?” he says desperately. But Ava doesn’t care. He can’t quite make out exactly what she’s saying and he doesn’t know what to do.

So he picks her up out of bed and lays her against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, trying to bounce her. That’s how to calm children down, right?

“I don’t want to stay here all by myself!” Her cries are muffled against him.

“Well, you’re not all by yourself,” he says. “I’m here. I’m staying with you.” Would that be enough? Please let that be enough. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that’s not good enough for her. Just for one night.

She sniffles a little and lifts her head, looking up at him with his own eyes. Except so innocent, so pure. “Can I sleep in your bed?” she asks, voice still wavering.

Relief crashes over him. “Sure,” he says. “Of course.”

The smile she gives him is vibrant, and he marvels at how little he loved her at the beginning of the week compared to now.

---

November 30 - Year of

She’d told her sister, once, that the last thing she would want would be to be remembered as a coward. She felt like one now.

Like a coward and angry and hurt, perhaps, more than anything. Which made her feel stupid.

Sometimes Nesta thought she felt too much.

After Cassian had apologized, she’d fled to her room and avoided him successfully for over a week. It was made easier by the fact that he did have to leave a few times during the week, to one of those neighboring camps he always went off to.

She didn’t want to think about it. Especially the pain. Because if he had hurt her...she didn’t let herself finish the thought.

But one afternoon, at work, while counting out jackets in the back, she heard Emerie say, “What are you doing here?”

And then she heard him reply, “I came to see Nesta.”

She nearly dropped the jacket she was holding. She normally felt him before she heard him. Where had that gone? It was of no use to her when they were both in the house, and now it was too late to sneak out the back, because he was coming.

"Nesta,” he said, pushing open the door.

“The sign says ‘employees only’,” she blurted out, which she knew was the stupidest thing she could have said, but it was too late.

“Emerie said I could go in.”

Traitor.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“It couldn’t wait? I’m working.” Perhaps he’d make some snide comment about working in a clothier as opposed to being the Night Court’s Emissary and then she could pick a fight over that and kick him out of the shop and they’d go back to the way things were when she got here. Except she’d have Emerie and her drinking habit more under control, so it’d be better.

But he just said, “I know. I’m sorry, it couldn’t wait. I’ll be leaving again soon. For about five days, I think. Maybe longer. And I couldn’t go without...” he trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated sound. “I keep doing things wrong with you, Nesta.

She averted her gaze. She couldn’t do this. This was too much. And if he mentioned...that day...the battlefield...she didn’t know what she would do.

But he did.

“I promised you time, once,” he said softly.

No. No, she could not do this.

“I have to go,” she managed. She pushed past him, quickly, careful not to touch him.

“Wait, Nesta, please--”

“Nesta,” Emerie said, turning as she entered the room. “Where are you--?”

But Nesta didn’t stay to hear her finish. Instead, she ran.

---

November 3 - 4 years after

This time it is Nesta who rips open the door as soon as she hears Cassian approaching.

“Mummy!” Avery calls, reaching her arms out for her.

“Hi, ladybug,” Nesta croons. She holds her tightly against herself. “I missed you so much.”

She had regretted sending Cassian out with her the moment they had gone. She hadn’t spent a night away from them, ever. She had never not tucked them into bed. And now...Avery had had a night without her. It felt like she should look different. There should be some mark upon her face.

But her daughter looks just as she did last night, just as cheerful and chattery. Cassian looks relatively unscathed, too, if a bit tired.

“Did you have fun?” she asks her as she ushers them inside.

“Appa told me a boring story,” Avery says, and wiggles out of Nesta’s arm onto the ground. “I want some orange juice in my purple cup, please.”

“Boring story?” Nesta says to Cassian.

“She didn’t want yours. And I didn’t want to tell her something you wouldn’t approve of. She still asked for it again, anyway,” he says defensively.

Nesta looks at him. “And you told it to her?”

“Yes.” Now he looks unsure. “And then she wanted yours...so I told that one, like, three times.”

Nesta shakes her head. She looks at Avery. Her daughter knows how to get what she wants, that’s for sure. “Did she ask to sleep in your bed, too?”

“...is that bad?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Avery wraps everyone she meets around her little finger. Why should her father be any different?

“How are Nicky and Ollie?” he asks.

"Still ill,” she says. “The main thing is just to keep them on a constant stream of fluids so they don't dehydrate. Soup, if they feel up for it. Talk to them if you can, but they might be too tired.”

“Shouldn’t we take them to a healer?”

She hadn’t realized how much she’d appreciate hearing him say we . “We don’t need to,” she says. “It’s the common flu. They’ll be fine.”

“So...you never take them to the healer? If they have the flu?”

“It’s not necessary if it lasts only a couple of days,” she reminds him, “for adults and children both.”

“Infants--”

“Not the same,” she explains patiently. “They can digest medication. Infants can’t.”

She finishes putting Avery’s breakfast in front of her. “When you’re done, Mummy will take you to nursery.”

“I want to say hello to Nicky and Ollie.”

“Finish your breakfast and then go,” she says to her. Then she says to Cassian, “Well, other than that...how was it?”

“She cried,” he admits. Then he grins. “But I calmed her down.”

“By letting her sleep in your bed.”

“Why is that not allowed?”

Nesta shakes her head again. “You were only with her. What if they all wanted to sleep in your bed?”

“What then?”

“They would kick you out and you would end up on the floor.” Nesta had thought moving them into their own beds would be a hard step, and it was, but as soon as she woke up from her first night alone in over two years, she didn’t miss it anymore.

Cassian laughs. “I can take them.”

Nesta hides a smile. “Finish up, Avery,” she says. “It’s almost time to go.”

She busies herself around the kitchen with nothing in particular, just feeling his eyes on her.

---

November 12 - 1 year after

She could hear everyone around her before she could see them. Low, hushed voices. Some whirring sound, too. She shivered from the cold and from something else.

“Oh, she’s waking up,” she heard someone whisper.

“Nesta?” another voice said. Miri, from Sugar Books. What was she doing here?

Nesta opened her eyes. Where was here, exactly?

Here was a small room Nesta didn’t recognize. Pale blue walls decorated with tiny sugar berries; the sheets on the bed she was lying on the same design. The curtains on the window were a cheerful yellow and the expressions on Zeyn and Miri’s faces were anything but.

“Can you hear us, Nesta?”

Nesta struggled to sit upright. “Of course I can hear you,” she said, grumbling slightly. “What are these?” She shook her arm as she spoke, at the needles prodded inside her. She was in an infirmary of some kind. She vaguely remembered blacking out at the store, but since she could feel no pain, she assumed she was fine. Probably just dehydrated. After all, she had been Made. The epitome of perfection, was she not? She didn’t get sick anymore.

“Fluids,” Zeyn said unhelpfully.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course they were fluids. But Zeyn was harmless, if annoying, and she didn’t want to start an antagonistic relationship with the coworker who clearly liked her best.

“You blacked out,” Miri said, her wide dark eyes searching Nesta’s face. “We brought you to the clinic. A healer is seeing to you. Her name’s Amorette. She’s fairly new here, but I’ve been told she’s very good.”

Nesta nodded. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, hoping they’ll hear the dismissal.

They do. “Feel better, Nesta,” Zeyn said, reaching her hand to squeeze it. She tried not to flinch.

“We’ll be by to check in on you,” Miri said.

Oh, for the love of all things Holy. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She smiled as she spoke, hoping she did so normally.

Cassian used to make fun of her forced smiles. You look like you’re in pain.

Why was she thinking of him all of a sudden?

They left as the healer stood in the room. She looked to be about Nesta’s age--although with Fae, you couldn’t really tell, could you? But at any rate, a pretty, High Fae female, with light blue eyes and blond hair that kept tied at the nape of her neck.

“Good afternoon, Miss Archeron,” the healer said. “I’m Amorette Dadashov. I’ll be your healer today. May I come in?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the healer asking permission.

Healer Dadashov closed the door behind her. She was holding a notebook in her hand. “I can see all your vitals have returned to normal,” she said, without checking them like a mortal nurse would have to. “All things considered.”

"All things considered?”

“Yes,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “I understand you’re new in town?”

What on Earth did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

“And, forgive me, you’re here alone?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“And you’ve not been to our clinic yet, correct?”

“Correct.” Shouldn’t that all be in her book? Why is she asking all this?

“So your options have not yet been explained to you?” Dadashov looked Nesta in the eye as she spoke.

Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. “Look,” she snapped, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’d very much like if you could just tell me what happened and what I have to do so it doesn’t happen again and let me go. Please,” she added as an afterthought. It didn’t sound very gracious.

Dadashov’s eyes widened. “Miss Archeron,” she said, not quite stuttering but certainly with none of the confidence she’d had before. “You do...I mean...you know that you’re pregnant?”

Nesta’s favorite book as a child was about magic. It wasn’t called magic, of course, for in the tiny human section of their island, magic was shunned. But that power to manipulate nature; that was what it was. The heroine was a girl named Avery, and Avery’s villain was a woman who could make things vanish. The most terrifying part of the story, in eight-year-old Nesta’s opinion, was the part where the villain made the floor vanish right from underneath Avery, and she fell and fell for miles until she could get her magic working to pull herself back up.

Nesta felt that. But there was no one to pull her back up. Because she was alone. There was only falling.

“I...can see you did not know,” Dadashov said softly. “All right, well...” She pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down. She gripped Nesta’s hands, hers a warm peach next to Nesta’s stark white. “It’s going to be all right,” she said soothingly. “The clinic is very well prepared for any option you choose. We have three healer’s for female reproduction, myself included. We’re all more than capable of treating you in whatever...oh, dear. Here,” she said, passing her a wad of tissue paper.

“Oh,” Nesta said, taking some and wiping her eyes. “Oh, er, tha--”

But she choked on her words.

What was she supposed to do?

“I can’t be pregnant,” she whispered aloud. Because she couldn’t. Then she realized--she truly couldn’t. “This...can't be possible. I haven’t...been with anyone in months.” Even with the gravity of the situation, Nesta still felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks. Perhaps she had not entirely thrown out the excessive modesty of her upbringing with her few months of numerous partners in Velaris, and the few months living with Cassian.

Oh, Mother. Cassian.

“It’s...possible for a female to get pregnant months after intercourse,” the healer said slowly, carefully, like Nesta was an idiot.

“It is?” she replied, feeling like one.

“Yes.”

Of course, Nesta thought, thinking it through. Because her cycle was so slow...and that meant her whole system was so slow...and if pregnancy once would have occurred a few days after sex, now it happened months.

And she had stopped taking the potion. Because she had stopped sleeping with people. But that didn’t matter, because it had only been...Nesta counted backwards in her head...a month since she had last slept with Cassian.

(A month? Had it really only been a month?)

Nesta put her head in her hands. “All right,” she said, summoning her nerve. “Tell me about the other two healers.”

“Well,” Dadashov said, slightly taken aback, “there’s Huseyn Por--”

“Male.”

“Er, yes.”

“No. The other one.”

"Marya Kamal. She’s brilliant, one of the best in the field. We’re lucky to have her. Her studies--”

“How old is she?”

“Er,” Dadashov said, eyes darting around. “I believe...twelve-hundred, or so?”

“No. You, then. All right.” Nesta paused to take a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about faerie reproduction. I wasn’t born faerie. And I...can’t have this baby.”

Eugh, why did she say baby?

Dadashov’s eyes go even wider.

She’s a patient from Hell, she imagined. But Healers liked a challenge, didn’t they?

---

November 3 - 4 years after

The day spent with his sons is miserable. He sits with them all day, talking to them while they’re awake and running his hands down their backs while they sleep. Nicky seems to be doing a little better towards the late afternoon, and sits up to have soup, but Ollie barely takes the water Cassian makes him drink.

He’s beyond relieved when Nesta and Ava come home.

Ava rushes up the stairs ahead of Nesta. “We’re going to flying lessons now, Appa,” she sing-songs. “We’re going now, we’re going now, we’re going now.”

"Hi, angels,” Nesta says, coming into the room and sitting by Nicky. “How are you feeling?” she asks him, putting a hand on his forehead.

“Better,” he says, but his voice is still so weak.

Nesta kisses the top of his head and hugs him. “What about a bath? Would that make you feel better.”

He shrugs into her.

“I think it would,” she says, standing up. “How’s Ollie?”

“Sleeping, mostly.”

“Poor angel,” she sighs. “All right, you go on to flying lessons. Have fun, Avery. Say hello to Madam Sabina for me.”

“Bye-bye, Nicky! Bye-bye, Mummy! Let’s go now, Appa!”

Ava takes his hand and starts dragging him towards the door. “Bye,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll come back soon.”

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go now!”

Ava keeps up variations of her chant until they arrive at one of the parks where flying lessons commence. The children all look to be around her age, accompanied by a parent or two. They’re all various types of lesser fae, none of the likes of which he’s seen in the Night Court.

Madam Sabina is a round, pink female with large, feathery wings.

“Hello,” he says, introducing himself. “I’m here with Ava.”

“You’re her father?”

“Yes. Nesta’s at home. With the boys. They’re sick.”

“Ah, flu’s going around. All right, then. Normally I fly with the triplets, but good. You’ll do it. Wonderful. Are you excited to fly with your Daddy, Ava?”

“He’s my Appa,” she says. And then she starts singing again, “We’re at flying lessons now, we’re at flying lessons now.”

Madam Sabina shrugs. “Excited enough, I guess. All right, students!” she cries, clapping her hands. Let’s all gather around in a circle--mummies, daddies, uncles, let’s get behind them. Let’s start our stretching exercises.”

"Hi,” says the female next to him in the parents’ circle. “I’m Nuray, Zehra’s mother. I’m a friend of Nesta’s. You’re the triplets’ father, right?”

He nods. “Cassian,” he says.

“Nicky looks so much like you,” she says. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re sick,” he says, wondering how many friends Nesta has here, or if everyone who has a child in the same age group counts as a friend. “The flu.”

“Oh,” she says, clucking. “Poor dears. Well, it’s going around. Nice that Nesta’s got you here now, to help out. Especially with Zeyn gone.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, struggling to maintain a casual tone. “Good stretching, Ava,” he says to her.

“All right, now, let’s just flap our wings. Just like that. No, Fidan, not too fast! We’re just flapping, we’re not flying! All right, good!”

Ava grins up at him. “I already know how to fly,” she tells him.

“Oh, do you?”

“I’m so good at it.”

“I bet you are.”

“We’re not allowed to fly until Madam Sabina says it’s okay.”

“That’s right.”

“Because we have to stretch first because it’s very important.”

“It is very important, you’re right.”

“And, now we’re going to run all the way over there and then back again, all right? Go!”

Ava shoots off as fast as she can, making him laugh in delight. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Nesta for giving them such a beautiful, quiet place to learn to fly.

"I think it’s great that you’ve moved back in,” Nuray says. “In a town like this, people talk, but they’re good. People talked when my wife and I separated, but now we’re back, and people stop talking, you know?”

"Er,” Cassian says. “We’re not--I mean, I’m not--I don’t...live...here.”

“Oh!” Nuray brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just...assumed. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all right,” he says, eyes darting around. This is so--weird. Sugar Valley is so weird. People he doesn’t even know congratulating him on moving back in with Nesta. No one here knows who he is. No one here has served in any military. He’s not even sure Gilameyva has a military. It’s so detached from Prythian, so different.

“Well, at any rate...I think it’s great that you’re stepping up.”

“Thanks.” Is this a normal conversation?

Thankfully, Ava comes back then.

“All right, everyone,” Madam Sabina announces. “Pair up, pair up. We’re going to go up! Stand by your partner!”

Ava stands in front of Cassian, beaming up at him.

“Okay, just high enough to their heads. Now...up!”

Ava kicks herself off the ground--it isn’t graceful in the least, but he’s so proud, prouder than he’s ever been in his life.

“And now we’re all going to do a lap around the park together. No higher than six feet, parents! And uncle!”

Ava takes his hand as they fly together. He’s going abnormally slow, but he doesn’t care at all.

---

Chapter Twelve

#acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #like pristine glass #lizo writes #wow tumblr was super annoying putting this up #like more annoying than usual #anyway my frustration with the publishing world sort of bled into this chapter!!#really hope if you have any thoughts on this one you let me know #because i sort of bled into it!!#like this one was a lot #and i've been waiting to write and share it for a long time

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valeriethepussycats · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2

Pairing- Dean x Reader

Warning- cursing

The local cop dive. It’s where all the cops go after a hard days of work or there trying to get away from there husbands and wives but today The cops sit clustered at a few tables, celebrating. Benny and some cops are at the bar getting drinks.

“Beautiful. A toast to me. Make me feel good about myself.” Benny grinned

“Hey, Sandy! Here we go!” Bobby called out to the bartender.

Bobby, Dean and a group of people walks up to Benny. Not paying attention to his drink Benny spills some. “Shit.”

“Ok, so how we do... oh! Whoa, whoa.” Bobby stated.

“I need a bib!” Benny proclaimed.

“Here we go. All right! “ Bobby chuckled as he handed everyone a beer.

“Can’t take me anywhere.” Benny declared.

“And here is to Benny for his quick thinking, for his grace under pressure and for his brave and selfless act.” Bobby grinned

“Hear! Hear! Hear! Hear!”

“And to Dean, for shooting Benny.” Bobby teased. “Something we've all wanted to do for a very long time.”

Everyone laughs at Benny.

“Hey, hey!” Benny called out as he punches Bobby.

“Ok, no, no. Here it is. Here's to you guys for doing your job and for not getting dead.” Bobby Announced.

“Mazel tov! Mazel tov!”

Later on that night the dregs of the occasion. The few that are left are fairly soused. Bobby, Dean and Benny are at the bar, talking.The bartender pours them each a shot.

“Here you go. Thirty-fifth round is on the house.” Sandy told the three men.

“We're the two luckiest guys in the world, you know that?” Benny commented. “We got the bad guy and we didn't lose any civilians.”

“We're good.” Dean agreed.

“No! You were lucky.” Bobby told Benny.

“No, we were lucky.” Benny stated. “You better understand it. We were dealing with a total psycho. This guy could've blown us up at any time. And I got a bullet in me. Inches off the mark, and they're giving the medal to my wife.”

“Benny, come on, man. I mean, we won. We got him.” Dean tried to reassure Benny.

“Do you listen? Do you ever... Because I am not going to be around to back you up, so you better start thinking. Guts'll get you so far and then they'll get you killed. Luck runs out sooner or later. Right, Chief?” Benny finished. As he gets up not really having a balance he almost falls on a waiter but Dean and Bobby catches it.

“I’m all right. I'm all right. I'm going to go home, have some sex.” Benny proclaimed.

“Benny, you're going to go home and puke. Dean said getting a following Benny.

“Yeah, well, that'll be fun, too.” Benny murmured.

“Come on, you gimp.” Dean said walking Benny out of the bar.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

A bus pulls up to an Santa Monica bus lines and parks in front of it. Crowley the bus driver gets off and walks over to a coffee shop. When Crowley walks in he sees Dean.

“Hey, Dean, saw you on TV. Congratulations.” Crowley praised.

“Thanks, Crowley.” Dean replied with a small smile.

“Yeah. You looked fat.” Crowley teased.

Take it easy on him, Crowley. The boy was up late last night partying.” Gabriel Chimed in.

“Wild party?”Crowley Asked.

“I don't remember that well. Couldn't have been too great. Woke up alone.” Dean answered.

Gabriel place Dean and Crowley drink on the counter in front of them.

“Yeah? The last time I partied like that,I woke up married. Huh,Gabriel?” Crowley wondered.

Crowley starts to walks out the Coffee shop. Dean is about to do the same but Gabriel’s voice stops him. “Hey, Dean, you forgot your muffins.”

Dean walks back to the counter and grabs his muffins. “Have a good one, Crowley!” Dean grinned.

“Thanks, Dean! Take care, huh?” Crowley replied

“Thanks.” Dean told Gabriel.

Dean walks out the Coffee shop in sees Crowley in the bus and taking off.

“See you tomorrow!” Dean shouted at Crowley.

Dean puts his breakfast on the top of his car as he digs for his keys. The bus explodes.

Dean half-turns as the shock wave knocks him off his feet. Car alarms wail. People run. The bus carcass burns, twisted metal and flaming plastic where Crowley was. Dean moves forward on instinct, but there's nothing he can do and the

flames force him back. As Dean stares in shock, we notice a phone ringing,getting louder as it filters into Dean s consciousness. Suddenly

it dawns on him and he turns, dreamlike, and walks to the phone. Picks up the receiver.

“What do you think, Dean? You think if you pick up all the bus driver's teeth, they'll give you another medal?” Chuck Asked mockingly.

“Jesus...” Dean Breathed.

A big old American car. Chuck has parked two blocks away speaking on a cellular.

“You think I wouldn't have been prepared? Two years I spent setting up that elevator job. Two years I invested myself in it.” Chuck asked. “You couldn't understand the kind of commitment that I have. You ruined a man's life's work and you think you can walk away? You got blinders on to the world,but I got your attention now, didn't I, Dean?” Chuck finished.

“Why didn't you just come after me?” Dean asked in a rasping tone.

“This is about me! About my money! This is about money due me, which I will collect. $ 3.7million. It's mynest egg, Dean. At my age, you've got to think ahead.” Chuck informed.

“When I find you...”

“Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. Once the bus goes 50 miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If it drops below 50 it blows up. What do you do?... what do you do?” Chuck Asked loudly Dean.

“I'd want to know what bus it was.” Dean answered.

“You think I'm going to tell you that?” Chuck asked.

“Yes.”

“Very good. There are rules, Dean, and I want you to get this right. No-one goes off the bus. You try to take any passengers off the bus, I will detonate it. I want my money by 11am.

Dean looks at his watch. It's 8:05. “We can't pull that kind of money in time.” Dean admitted.

“Focus, Dean! Your concern is the bus. And don't try to call. The radio's down.Now, the number of the bus is 2525. It's running downtown from Venice.It is at the corner of Ocean Park.

Dean drops the phone and takes off running towards his car. Tires squeal as Dean pulls out.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The bus is pulling away. Y/n Y/l, an attractive twenty something in an Arizona tee shirt and casual clothes, bolts after it. It is a good half block away by the time she reaches it. She runs alongside, yelling at the driver Jody Mills.

“Jody!... Jody!”

“Y/n.” Jody teased.

“Jody! Tell her to stop!” Y/n yelled at the people on the bus. “Jody”!

Jody finally relents. She stops and opens the door. “This ain't no bus stop. Get rid of your bud.” Jody laughed.

“Ok,it's gone. It's gone.” Y/n told Jody. Throwing her cigarette to the ground then getting on the bus. “ You are a good, kind woman. One day, people will write songs about you.”

Y/n makes her way to her set. She plops herself down in front of Kevin Tran, an obvious tourist and beside a middle-age one.

“Hi.” Y/n spoke to the woman beside her.

“Hi.” The Woman replied.

“First time in LA.” Kevin said Y/n All of a sudden.

“Oh, no. I live here.” Y/n replied.

“No, I mean mine. Oh, that's just funny. You heard me wrong. I'm sightseeing.

“Oh really.” Y/n replied Dryly.

I hate to use the word tourist,but it's not like I can hide it.” Kevin explained.

“Not really.” Y/n said with a sigh of irritation.

“Aw, jeez. You know, it took me three hours just to get here from the airport. I got so lost. LA is one large place. Course, you live here. You probably don't notice. I'm such a yokel. There. I said it.”

Annoyed. Y/n pulls her gum out of her mouth and stick it on her fingers.

“You know what? I got gum on my seat.” Y/n Lied.

“Gum.” Y/n said showing Kevin the gum. “Excuse me.” Y/n said excusing, she makes her way back to the front. She sits by Ellen Harvelle, a older lady.

“Good morning.” Y/n said to The woman beside her.

“Hi.” Ellen replied.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Frustrated, Dean weaves in and out of traffic, honking, yelling...Turns onto Lincoln in a controlled four-wheel skid. Dean is frantic, weaving in and out of traffic.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The bus in traffic, picking up speed. The speedometer reads 45 and climbing.

A few passengers are talking; others are reading a day like any other day.

“I just couldn't handle the freeways any more. I got so tense. This way, I can just relax all the way to work.” Ellen disclosed.

“Yeah, well, I love my car.I miss my car.” Y/n replied.

There's a traffic jam ahead and the bus slows down.

Bus speedometer almost touches 50... then eases off.

Passengers groan. “Oh, God. Look at that.”

“Hey, Jody!” Y/n called out.

Half-mile ahead, there's an accident blocking the three right lanes. There are flames on the road and a policeman is trying to direct traffic.

“Shit.” Jody swore.

“Jody!” Y/n shouted.

“What?” Jody snapped.

“Why don't you just drive over these people or something?” Y/n wondered.

“Don't spit on my bus, Y/n.” Jody barked.

Y/n and Ellen snicker as Jody looks at them in the review mirror.

“Such a mess.” Jody proclaimed.

Traffic is backed-up a hundred yards from the accident and is tunneling through the one open lane -- the far left lane. Dean sees the bus. It is mired in the jam as well. But it's all the way over to the left, fifty yards from Dean. Dean pulls his car over onto the right shoulder, stops and gets out. He hurries for the bus. It's a race against time, as the bus is heading for the choke point, building speed as the cars funnel through ahead of it. Dean gets to the bus, just as it's about to go past the accident. He runs along beside it, knocking on the bus not knowing his strength he cracked the glass of the door on the bus.

“Stop! Open up!” Dean shouted.

“Get off the door. This ain't no bus stop.” Jody told Dean loudly.

“He really wants on the bus.” Ellen murmured.

“Open up! Stop!” Dean urged. Running after the

“Don't, Jody! Don't let him on!” Y/n yelled.

“LAPD!” Dean yelled. Stop the bus!...LAPD!...Stop!”

Jody speeds up to get away from Dean as Dean retrieves the badge. Cars honk at him, swerve around him.Dean looks back. His car is a half mile back, still in thick traffic, not an issue. Dean stops out in front of the oncoming cars. We hear brakes screeching and a man yelling. The Jaguar owner aka Gordon Walker, late 20s, curses Dean from behind the wheel of his brand new XJ-12 convertible. Dean flashes abadge.

“Stop! LAPD! Get out of the car.” Dean ordered.

We hear brakes screeching and a man yelling.

“This is my car. I own this car.It's not stolen.” Gordon told Dean.

Dean pulls his gun. “It is now.” Dean opens the door. “Move over.”

“Fuck!” The man swore.

Gordon hesitates a second, then gets up and climbs over the center console into the passenger seat. Dean holsters his gun, jumps in and steps on it.

“Man, you scratch this puppy and me and you are gonna have words You understand?” Gordon stated.

Jody accelerates. We hear the automatic transmission downshift. Bus speedometer 45 and climbing...

Dean is Chasing the bus, weaving in and out of traffic honking, flashing the Jag's lights. The car's owner holds on with white knuckles and eyes closed. “OK, look, man, we don't have to go so fast. Just slow down a little bit. Holy shit.” Gordon yelped.

Bus speedometer 46, 47...

Dean Catches up to the bus. He lays his hand on the horn.

Bus speedometer 48, 49, 50. under the bus A mass of slabs of white putty wired to a black box.

Is that that guy?” Ellen asked.

“Man sure has a hard-on for this bus.” Said Arthur ketch as he looks out the window.

Jody Looks down from the bus at Dean. Double takes. It's the same guy who was running after the bus! And he's yelling something.

“Hey! I'm a cop!” Dean yelled at Jody.

Jody 's eyes narrow. She opens the window. “What?” Jody shouted.

Dean flashes his badge.

“L-A-P-D. There's a bomb on your bus!” Dean shouted.

“There's a what-- fuck!” Gordon Chimed in.

“There's a bomb on the bus.” Dean yelled.

Not attention to the road the car swerves

“Watch the road!” Gordon urged.

Jody shakes her head —she can’t hear Dean.

Dean looks around. Sees sheet music on the back seat. “Grab that willya? I want you to write on it.” Dean told Gordon. “I want you to write on the back: "Bomb on bus." Gordon starts to write.

“Write it, write it, write it!” Dean urged as he Beats the car up to drive in front of the bus.

Jody and the passengers are looking out at Jack, wondering what the hell is going on.

Gordon holds the sheet music up. The wind rips it from his hands.Jody looks up as the sheet music plasters against her windshield: BOMB ON BUS. Jody stunned. Then the wind Whips it away.

Jody breaks into a cold sweat... and starts to take her foot off the gas. Dean r Sees the bus slow. He looks down at the Jag's speedometer. It reads 55.

“Oh, shit!...No!?..Don't slow down!” Dean yells. As he pulls to the side of the bus where the doors. “No! No, no, no, no, no!.. Speed up! Open the doors!”

Jody hesitates but then opens the door to the bus.

“50! Stay above 50!” Dean yells at Jody.

“OK. - All right?” Jody Nodded agreeably.

Dean picks up the phone on the dashboard and hands it to Gordon.

“470-8000. Ask for Detective Benny Lafitte.” Dean told.

Darling the number that Dean just gave him.

“Benny Lafitte. It’s urgent.”

He listens a moment, then hands the phone to Dean.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

“Benny it’s Dean.” Robin told Benny.

Benny at his desk; a sleepy morning. He finds his will power and picks up the phone. “You better not be calling in sick, cause I dragged my ass out of --“

“Benny He's alive.”

“What?”

“The bomber, Benny. He's back..”

Bobby and Garth burst in, in mid conversation.

“He hit one in Venice already. Fire chief says there's nothing left.” Garth stated.

“Lafitte! We just got a ransom demand from your dead terrorist! Says he rigged a city bus. Where's Dean?” Bobby asked impatiently.

“Where do you think?”Benny told.

Part 3

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x black! reader #dean x black reader

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the-angriestpineapple · 5 years ago

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brewed & beards - ch 6

Kirishima tries to help Uraraka train when she asks, and he gets over his jealousy enough to actually become her friend.

Chapter Six - Genuine Kindness

One of Kiri’s favorite classes this semester is his nutrition class. He hadn’t been wrong when he told Uraraka the other night at pizza that nutrition was really important to him, and learning the science behind what made good food choices was fascinating. He even really liked his teacher, Professor Taishiro. The man seemed to always be eating something in class, jovially telling his students on the first day that as long as they cleaned up after themselves, he didn’t mind if they did the same.

Professor Taishiro was talking about macros and how they transfer into energy, and Kiri was totally listening, absolutely. He was only vaguely thinking about his resolution that he is unable to hate Uraraka. His mind wasn’t swarming with the petty part of him that still wants to hate her, but at the same time Bakugou has been nothing but rude to him and honestly he even seems pretty indifferent to his own girlfriend, would he really want that kind of partner even if he IS jaw-droppingly beautiful? It’s a stupid thought either way. Uraraka is a small, soft girl and I’m a big, muscular boy –

“Kirishima?”

Kiri starts and stares into the concerned face of his professor. A quick glance around the room tells him that he’s been sitting here mumbling to himself for long enough for class to have ended. Kiri swipes a hand down his face, wincing apologetically at the teacher. He’d woken up late today, very unlike himself, and barely had time to throw clothes on and make it to class on time. His red spikes take three minutes to set, not even counting the time it took him to sculpt them, so his hair was uncharacteristically limp around his shoulders.

Taishiro frowned at the boy. “Have you been feeling well, Kirishima? I’ve noticed that you were very distracted today. We do have a school nurse on campus if something is the matter.” Kiri’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head a littler harder than necessary.

“Ah, no, I apologize Professor. I’ve been distracted with some, uh, relationship troubles.”

Taishiro’s frowned deepened and he perched on the desk directly to Kiri’s left. “Relationship troubles. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, you’re an adult now. But I would like for you to keep in mind that you are here at school to learn, and to build a foundation for a career. A very promising career, if my impression of you is correct.” He smiles kindly, and Kiri feels ashamed at how much he’s been letting this situation get to him. He makes a mental note to apologize to his other professors and to Mirio as well.

“I am so deeply sorry, Professor Taishiro.” Kiri immediately stands and deeply bows. “I promise to focus on school work from now on. You’re right, I shouldn’t be letting other people affect my future like this.”

His teacher chuckles and gently pushes him to stand upright. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Kirishima, I just want to make sure you know what is important. Now head on out, and have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kiri gathered up his books and gives another short, quick bow before heading off to an anatomy class. He really needed to get himself together.

---

He spends his lunch that day in the dorm room, eating some leftover rice with canned tuna. It’s a simple meal but a very comforting one for him, and he doesn’t mind the quietness of being in the dorm without Hanta and Denki. He loves them dearly, he truly does, but sometimes a guy just needs some peace and quiet.

He blinks as his phone goes off and he looks over to it. A text from an unknown number? He balances his bowl and chopsticks in one hand as he reaches to his phone to swipe the message open.

???: Hey Kirishima! It’s Uraraka, I meant to get your number when we were all out the other night but I forgot. Mina gave it to me, I hope you don’t mind! ;^^

Kiri didn’t mind in the least, really, he was totally okay with his friends being able to reach him if they needed to. And he considered Uraraka his friend now. He quickly typed back that it was absolutely fine with a smiley face.

Uraraka: Great! So I wanted to ask if you have time to help spot me at the gym tonight – Bakugou’s working and I’d really like to get some training in. If you aren’t busy?

Kiri smiled softly. He really had to admire her drive, it was inspiring. He said that he’d be at work tonight so he’d be able to help her train, no problem. She sent back a bunch of hearts and fist emojis, and it actually made Kirishima laugh. He was actually headed there once he finished lunch, so he let her know that and quickly shoveled the rest of his rice and tuna into his mouth. He brought the bowl to the bathroom to rinse it quickly – he didn’t want the room smelling like tuna – and then packed up his gym stuff to head out. A text from Uraraka said that she also had no classes this afternoon so she could meet him there.

The gym Kirishima worked at was only a few blocks over from campus. He actually had to pass the coffee shop to get there, and he couldn’t help peering in as he quickly walked by. He didn’t see Bakugou but he did see Mina and Jirou laughing about something behind the counter. He smiled. It always made his heart warm to see his friends happy.

He arrived at the gym and waved to the employee behind the counter (it wasn’t Ojiro today) and headed to the locker rooms. He dropped his stuff in an open locker and changed from his walking shoes to his gym sneakers, already wearing what he planned to work out in. He paused in front of the mirror as he headed out and looked at himself. He wore a tight fitted tank, loose gym shorts, and his hair was done up in his trademark spiked style. He grinned at himself, his mouth full of teeth that he’d always felt were slightly sharper than normal, and flexed. He was strong and he looked good, any bro would be lucky to have him! He gave his reflection a confident nod and strolled out into the main area of the gym.

“Oh, Kirishima! Hi!” He looked over to the weight area where Uraraka was already, waving a hand frantically and beaming. He returned her grin and jogged the rest of the way to her.

“You ready to get pumped, Uraraka?” He struck a pose, his fists clenched.

“Yeah!” She punched the air, reminding him a little of Mina. She giggled. “I brought along the plan that the trainer here gave me – that Bakugou wrote all over and changed – but I wanted to see what you think too.” He accepted the paper from her and skimmed it, eyes glancing over angry red scratch-outs accompanied by blurbs that said things like ‘waste of time, do this instead’ and other completely different instructions on there. Kiri winced.

“Well, it’s not that Bakugou’s suggestions are bad…” Uraraka’s face fell a little. “The just seem to be geared toward someone who is built more like him. Or me. Not so much like you. Actually, what the trainer suggested you start with is more on point for what you could be doing. How much can you bench press?”

Uraraka’s frown turned into a proud smile. “Fifty pounds so far! I want to be able to bench, like a hundred by the end of the school year.” She punched into the air again and Kiri grinned.

“Hell yeah, we can totally aim for that! Here’s what I think you should do. Lemme get some paper and a pen.” He went to the desk to grab them, and then he and Uraraka crowded around the sheets. He carefully re-wrote what the personal trainer initially put down for the most part, altering it slightly to include the lightest of Bakugou’s suggestions and a few suggestions of his own. No reason to completely piss the blonde off when he sees his girlfriend’s altered training plan. “Do you have a nutrition plan too? I know you said that you don’t really cook.”

Uraraka shook her head. “Um, not really. I basically either eat whatever is in the cafeteria or whatever Bakugou makes. He makes really good meals though, and rarely ever eats anything unhealthy.” Kirishima nodded, ignoring his heart flipping over Bakugou being health conscious. What a stupid thing to be attracted to.

“Well I imagine whatever Bakugou makes you is probably fine. As for the cafeteria…” He started writing down food pairings, Uraraka focused completely on what he was saying, and his professor’s words from this morning rang in his head about how he could have a very successful career of this. When he handed her the completed paper, she folded it gently like it was precious and tucked it into her bag. It gave Kiri a sharp spike of pride. “Alright! Let’s see how you handle that fifty pounds on the bench and see if we can up it a little today.”

“Sure thing! Let’s go!” Uraraka jumped excitedly and hopped over to a weight lifting bench, immediately going to start putting weights on the bar. Kiri couldn’t help but feel like he was definitely in the right career.

That feeling floated him through the rest of Uraraka’s training (they got her up to 55 pounds) and home to the dorm. He walked in to Mina regailing Denki and Hanta about how Bakugou had almost blown up their chemistry lab that day. It makes him laugh, and the sadness is less than he expected. He knows that he is strong enough for this to pass.

#bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #ashido mina #sero hanta #ojiro mashirao #hagakure tooru #taishiro toyomitsu #my hero academia #my hero academia au #college au #uraraka ochaco #bakugou x ochaco #eventual kiribaku #kiribaku #slow burn #bakugou x kirishima #kirishima x bakugou imagine

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alleiradayne · 5 years ago

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There’s Something Strange A Reader/Sam Winchester Series

When Y/N Y/L/N escapes to the upper Midwest for a weekend of inspiration to begin her tenth paranormal thriller novel, she never imagined the source of that inspiration to be her own life. Between the old mansion, two peculiar men posing as antiquers, and the mysterious death of the heiress of Hill Manor one-hundred and fifty years ago, Y/N learns the truth about far more than the paranormal.

Part III - The Inspiration

Summary: Sleep can’t shake her writer’s block, and so Y/N goes wandering for inspiration. Warnings/Tags: Even more fluffy flirting, kissing, sort of dirty thoughts Square filled: Author AU Characters/Pairings: Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 2,021 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this entire series fills the Author AU square. Super giant huge thank you to @atc74 who beta’d this giant thing for me.

All was decidedly not well again.

Far from it, the moment Y/N had fallen asleep, everything had gone terribly wrong. Nightmare after nightmare kept any rest from her. Worse was waking up unable to recall any of those dreams. If only she has managed to hold on to one of them, her book would write itself.

Instead, she ate breakfast as she stared at the blank page in her notebook lying open on her desk. The longer she stared, the fewer coherent thoughts formed. And the longer she struggled against that impenetrable barrier, the more she returned to the single constant figure in her mind, with his long hair, broad shoulders, and killer smile.

Fuck.

The notebook snapped shut as she flicked the cover, then it thumped into the draw of the desk where she shoved it. A large bite consumed the last of her toast as she stood from her desk, strode to her door, and headed down the hallway.

If the mansion had managed to inspire her earlier, maybe it could do so again. The heavily furnished hallway to her right loomed strangely empty despite its copious décor. The end of her eastern wing of the house lay that way, so instead, she turned to her left and headed for the main staircase.

Something about the house had gripped her imagination upon arrival yesterday. That much had been evident the moment she had attempted to start her novel that afternoon. And while the people had interested her at dinner, only one of them continued to permeate the cloudy suffuse that comprised her rambling thoughts: Sam Winchester.

Instead of fighting her instincts, she submitted to her wandering mind and followed her feet. Through various hallways she traipsed, no clear path determined, and her thoughts trailed in tow. Off its leash, her subconscious found its way back to the events of the previous night. Dinner, while pleasant, had served up little besides food. Her educated guesses as to the pasts of the other guests had all been spot-on. Even Sam and Dean’s antiquer disguise had been a narrow miss. That had been their intent, after all.

But what had surprised her was Sam's warning on the heels of his apparent admiration. As she strolled through another gaudy corridor of the mansion, her fingers itched, suddenly eager to touch. Why the warning? With five other guests, how would any detective single out her fingerprints? And for what crime?

Y/N found herself on a sunny patio after several minutes of traipsing. Golden rays of warm sunlight angled across a wrought iron table painted white to match the pale stone upon which it stood. Myriad of planters and pots bearing lush autumnal flowers revealed the source of the previous night’s centerpiece at dinner. And in the far corner stood a tall sculpture of a robed woman bearing a pot from which water flowed.

Detectives. The worst kind, Sam had said. While he had initially seemed irritated by Dean's drunken admission, Sam had not evaded her when she had prodded further. Homicide then? Special Victims? Cold case?

A derisive snort echoed off the glass of the patio walls as Y/N turned on her heel and stomped from the room. How had he managed to distract her so? Sure, he was easy on the eyes. But a romance novelist she was not. Perish the thought, she had never entertained the idea of writing such a book. She wouldn't even know where to start.

Not that she knew where to start yet another paranormal thriller either.

As she traced her steps back through the mansion, a gnawing worry crawled up her spine and settled at the base of her head, fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. His warning, while subtle enough, set off all sorts of alarms. She could use that. It may not be a bad place to start. Foreboding warnings typically hooked readers. The curiosity to see how it all played out motivated the human mind like little else. The possibility of danger looming around every corner thrilled. But that road, that winding wandering path with its ominous tone and obfuscated truth demanded the reader’s attention.

If Sam's warning started the story, then what would end it? Don't touch anything. What if a protagonist did touch something? The final piece to their puzzle. It needed work. But at the very least, it was the start to and possibly the plot of a proper story.

A familiar baritone dragged her up from the depths of her thoughts, his curse permeating the fog. Y/N found herself outside of the library, two large dark oak doors framing the wide entrance. She leaned over the threshold with a careful look to either side, then entered when she found it empty but for copious books in a vast array of shelves.

She heard it again, another curse hissed under his breath. A part of her wondered what anger might look like on his too pretty face. Probably no less attractive. Maybe even more so. Something about that thought, about the library and finding him there, broke a fine sheen of sweat out across the back of her neck, and so when she rounded the last set of shelves baring the weight of old writing supplies to find Sam sitting at a table laden with books, she hesitated.

That single beat of uncertainty allowed Sam the time he needed to drag his eyes from his book and up her entire form, drinking her in from heeled feet to coiffed hair. That look, the wide-eyed gaze and gaping lips sucked the breath right from her lungs. Christ, how had anyone ever survived his stare? Or that squirm in his seat as he openly ogled her? How she had ever resisted the urge to shove his books aside, pin him to the table, and ride him until she passed out, she’d never know.

A thick swallow preceded his greeting. “Y/N,” he breathed. “Sleep well?”

Ruined. All her plans for the weekend had been ruined by that one little question. It was then that she gave up on writing about her beloved protagonist inheriting a haunted house. Darling Natalie would instead be meeting Sam Winchester in said house and together they would solve a mystery while they fell in love.

Romance novel stigma be damned.

“I ah… yeah, I did,” she stammered. “Slept alright. Do you… mind?” she asked as she pointed at the table.

Sam glanced at his books, then shut several as he gathered them up and placed them on the chair to his left. “Please,” he added as he motioned to the chair in front of him.

Measured steps bared her to the chair where she sat, her eyes never leaving his. “How’s your… research? Investigation? What are you doing?”

Either Sam played everything close to the chest, or his detective’s nature forced him to behave that way. He slid the open book in his hands to the side, just far enough where Y/N couldn’t make out the text. “Investigation. And it’s… slow. But we’re making progress.”

“Where’s Dean?”

He smirked at that. “I could give you his number if you’re interested.”

“Only if I get yours, too,” she retorted. “You know. In case I find anything.”

His chair slid closer with a rough pull at the seat as Sam leaned near her, one forearm propped on his thigh. “I thought you said you were writing a novel?”

As much as she wanted to bite back, Y/N held her tongue. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I’m not looking for things to write about.”

“Find anything interesting so far?” he asked with a coy smile.

“Maybe,” she said as she crossed her legs and dropped her heel to dangle from her toe. “Plenty of inspiration. All those fascinating people at dinner gave me plenty to work with.”

His eyes snapped to her bobbing foot, and before she could move, he pointed and asked, “Would you… do you wear heels all the time?”

Strangely attractive men in stranger mansions investigating murders and offering foot massages. That had to make it into the book somehow. She slipped her shoe from her toe and it thumped to the floor. Deft fingers enveloped her foot as Sam set it on his thigh and rolled his thumbs through the knots in her sole.

“I usually wear heels, yes,” she replied.

“That’s pretty rough on your feet,” he started, “compromises bone structure. Invites fractures.”

She laughed at that. “And women are the weaker sex.”

“Men that don’t wear heels are the weaker sex,” Sam stated. “I could never wear shoes like that. Not in my line of work.”

There. A crack in the foundation. “Have you chased many monsters, Sam?”

His thumbs faltered as his mouth gaped. “Who said I chase monsters?”

That had not been the reaction she expected. “You’re a detective, right? Cold cases? The guys they call when nobody else can figure it out?” She flexed her foot when he continued to stare. “Sam?”

He shook his head as though confused. “Uh yeah, sorry. But no, I haven't chased many…” he paused with an averted glance, “… many criminals. You sound like you know a bit about investigations. What sort of books do you write?”

She ignored his casual shift in topics. “Paranormal thrillers.”

His hands froze as all the color drained from his face. “What?”

“You know. Like haunted houses,” she started as she casually gestured. “Vengeful spirits, cursed objects, demons, angels, religion, the occult. All of it,” she rattled. “I’ve got nine books on the market and I started the tenth this morning. For the most part. I think I’ve got plenty of inspiration with this house and the guests to come up with some sort of plot.”

She had rattled on so intently that Y/N missed his gaping mouth and green complexion. He remained that way, still as stone and staring until she slipped her foot from his hands. “I… think I should leave you to your research.”

With her foot returned to her shoe, Y/N stood and turned for the door, but only took half a step before the warmth of Sam’s massive hand slipped into her palm. He hadn’t grabbed her, hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even stood. When she turned over her shoulder, she found him seated and gazing up at her as if seeing her for the first time all over again.

“Help me?”

Her eyes snapped back to the table where she found his book shut. In the dark leather of the cover, gold inlay emblazoned the titled across the top in a curling script.

The Haunting of Hill Manor: A History.

“You’re not a detective.”

Sam shook his head but said nothing as her eyes flicked from the book to him and back.

“And this is Hill Manor.”

Sam nodded.

“And it’s haunted.”

He scowled as he glanced at the book. “The simplest answer is yes.”

Did he expect her to take him seriously? She smiled a crooked smirk as she asked, “So, does that make you Egon in this operation?”

His laughter burst from his lips in a rush of air as Sam clutched his stomach and stood. “Only if that makes Dean Dr. Venkmen.”

Y/N neared him, leaving little space between them. “He seems like the type,” she started. “But you don’t seem as… oblivious as Egon.”

“If you ask me to fix your computer, I'm gonna spend a little extra time under your desk,” he teased.

“I expected no less,” she said.

“But only if you agree to help me,” he added.

He wasn't joking. His tone, his intense hazel stare, his towering frame did all the dirty work his courtesies avoided. “It's all real, then? Ghosts, curses, dark magic?” she asked.

“That's just the tip of the iceberg,” Sam started. “I wouldn't ask for a civilian’s help if we weren't desperate, but if anyone finds this thing we're looking for before we do…”

Y/N considered herself an expert on expressions and emotions. Describing both required a deft hand and intimate knowledge of the human psyche. Though she had described the sorrow in another’s eyes time and time again, she had never seen such pain first-hand. Not quite like how Sam harbored guilt and despair. That look alone told her more than anything he might ever say to her; he had seen things he would never forget, had experienced traumas that had broken him over and over. Those eyes and their desperation said more than she ever could in any of her books.

“I'll help you, Sam,” she started. “If it means we have a chance to save these people, and I don't ever have to see that look on your face ever again, I'll help you for the rest of my life.”

A familiar, yet long-forgotten warmth blossomed deep in her center and spread like wildfire through her entire body as Sam hauled her into him and enveloped her in his massive arms. Her lips found his in her haste to soothe her own sorrow, and at first, he hesitated. But then the smooth heat of his hand cupped her jaw, fingers delving into her hair and Y/N melted into him as he returned her kiss.

“Hey!”

As though struck, Sam tore from her and leaped back a step. Y/N whipped about and found the source of their interruption at the corner of a bookshelf where Dean loomed out of the shadows. Heavy boots thumped across the hardwood floor as he strode up to them both, and then he growled, “Find anything yet?”

Sam regarded Y/N before stuttering his response. “I might have a lead… from this.” He grabbed the history text from the table and handed it to Dean.

When he took it from Sam, Dean glared at Y/N, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. When she returned his glare, she planted her feet and folded her arms across her chest. No, there would be no scaring her off. Not with that pitiful excuse for intimidation.

“Not a civilian?” he asked her.

She looked at her watch. “As of five minutes ago, no.”

“Great,” Dean spat as he flipped his hand at Sam. “What were you—”

“She writes paranormal thrillers,” he interrupted. “She might be able to help. We need all the help we can get.”

Dean looked from Sam to her, then back to Sam. “Does she—”

“Iron, salt, and cleansing rituals for your everyday spirits that are stuck in between,” she interjected. “Might need a little Latin to force out a vengeful spirit. That’s what you’re dealing with here, right? A haunted mansion?”

Dean opened the book to Sam’s marker and scanned the page. “Not really.”

Y/N shook her head as she asked, “What do you mean? The house is either haunted or it’s not.”

He shoved the book into her hands and pointed at an artist's portrait of a woman at a writing table holding a pen to a piece of parchment.

“It’s not haunted yet,” Dean started, “but if we don’t figure out what item that woman attached herself to before she shows up, someone else will find it, and everyone in this fucking house is gonna die.”

Y/N took the book from him and stared as Dean turned to walk away. Sam remained by her side as he shuffled a step closer and placed a gentle hand on the small of her back.

The portrait was that of a woman in her thirties sitting at an ornately carved writing desk. She held a distinctly detailed fountain pen in her right hand, and a line of her neat script curled along the top of the parchment.

But that mattered least of all. The writing desk at which the woman sat stood beside a window in an all too familiar room.

“Oh fuck.”

Dean’s boots thudded to a halt. As he turned around, Sam leaned over her shoulder for a closer look at the page as he asked, “What is it?”

She pointed at the window, its gleaming rays of sunshine angled across the desk, and spoke.

“That’s my room.”

If you want to be tagged for this series specifically, send me an ask or a DM! If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), you can ask for that, too!

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE MASTER LIST

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The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99

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#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #reader/sam winchester

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razieltwelve · 5 years ago

Text

Thin (Final Rose)

“So… what do you think?” Blake asked Diana.

The dark-haired woman pressed her head against the wall and gave it a sharp knock before she eased back and stared at it. “Hmm… it’s a standard apartment wall. There’s nothing remarkable about it.” Her brows furrowed. “I’ve also had a look at it using a variety of different genetic templates ranging from radar and sonar to infrared and x-ray. There really isn’t anything weird about it at all.”

“I see.” Blake made a face. “Could you… make it more soundproof?”

Diana tilted her head to one side. “And why would you need it more soundproof?”

The Faunus looked away. “I may have received an anonymous note from one of my neighbours about, ahem, certain activities being especially loud at certain times of the, um, night.”

“So basically you’ve been having really noisy sex and the neighbours complained?” Diana grinned. “Was it Yang, Neo, Winter, or all three of them at once?”

“Well…”

“So all of the above them.” Diana cackled. “You guys really need to just buy a house or something. Thin walls are pretty common even in more expensive apartments. It’s just how things are done.”

“So you can’t do anything?” Blake asked. “We’ve been thinking of buying a house, but we haven’t found enough free time in our schedules for all of us to go look together.”

“Well… there are a couple of options.” Diana tapped her scroll and images began to appear above it. “The easiest one would be a silence emitter. It’s basically a device that nullifies sounds in a given area. However, they’re really most effective at stopping the movement of sound through air, and your problem is mostly caused by sound travelling through the walls, floor, and ceiling.”

“What else is there?”

Diana tapped her scroll again. “I could have you get all of your stuff out of the way for a couple of hours while I spray the place down with a specially developed coating that massively reduces the ability of sound to propagate through it. You could probably stab someone to death and nobody would be any the wiser.”

“Do I want to know why you’ve got that?”

“Meh. It’s perfect for interrogation rooms, which is what it was originally designed for. Oh, and it’s also been used to coat the walls of tunnels to reduce the noise they make.”

“I’m assuming there’s a catch?”

“I’m not saying it’ll poison you, but there’s a reason we don’t use it everywhere. It’s basically safe so long as you’re not spending hours at a time near it everyday, which is why we can use it on tunnels. Unfortunately, though, you will be spending hours at a time near it everyday if I coat your apartment with it.”

“Okay… next option.”

“Have you considered not having sex in your apartment or maybe having quieter sex?” The vicious glare Blake gave Diana was answer enough. “I see. Option number three is that I drill holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling and fill them with a special material that will absolutely absorb any sounds that a human or Faunus can make.”

“You can do that?”

“If your walls were solid brick, I wouldn’t be able to, but there’s more than enough airspace for it to work.”

“And what would the drawbacks be?”

“I’m going to have to put holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling. I may also have to rip open a few things to make sure the coverage goes all the way around. Other than that, though, it should do everything you need without any other significant drawbacks. I mean… your apartment will smell like plastic for a day, but that’s about it.”

“How long would it take for you to do?”

Diana gave the wall another tap. “With walls like this? Maybe half a day? To be honest, though, I wouldn’t be doing it myself. This kind of thing is minion work. It’s fairly straightforward, and the process has already been refined enough for any Level 2 or 3 minion to do it fairly easily.”

“Can’t you do it?” Blake asked. “I’d rather people not know that… you know…”

“Blake, if it makes you feel better, I can tell them that we’re putting in soundproofing because you like to murder people in your apartment. Believe me, the minions are not going to ask questions. We don’t have to say a word about you having crazy, noisy sex in your apartment.”

“…” Blake sighed. “Can you please just do it?”

"Blake, it’s really not that big a deal. It’s like going to the doctor. There’s no need to feel embarrassed when talking to your doctor, and there’s no need to be embarrassed when talking to the people doing the soundproofing. If it makes you feel any better, I will personally consider which minions I send to do the job.”

“Fine.”

X X X

The two young women that Diana sent to handle the job were easily the most… well… average people that Blake had ever seen. She honestly wouldn’t have been able to pick them out of a crowd, no matter how hard she tried, and she couldn’t help but feel that this might not even be the first time they’d met.

“Don’t worry about it,” one of the women said. “Everybody has a hard time remembering us.”

“It’s one of the reasons the boss hired us.” The other woman grinned. “We’re what you might call forgettable, which makes us perfect for infiltration and for doing jobs that people feel a bit uncomfortable with. We show up, do the job, and then people forget about us.”

“Well, not the boss,” the first woman said. “She never had any problems remembering us.”

“The boss is special. She never forgets anybody.”

“I guess.” The woman grinned. It was a very average sort of grin. “But that’s one of the benefits of being a minion. You’re not on your own. There are people who nobody forgets, and they have a part to play, same as we do. But we all work together, and we all get a nice slice of the pie when we’re done.”

“So… uh… do you know what to do?”

“Don’t worry, the boss already filled us in. Just go shopping or something. We’ll have this done by this afternoon. Just remember to leave all of the windows open, and you should be fine.”

“You’re a Faunus, right?” the other woman asked. “Here.” She handed Blake a modified surgical mask. “It’s designed to filter out the particles that make everything smell like plastic. You can wear it tonight and maybe tomorrow morning. The smell should be gone after that.”

“Thanks…” Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… I think I know where I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh?”

“You helped Ruby and Weiss with their new shower.”

“Heh. Not bad. Both of us are really more into domestic and commercial construction. Just about anything you might want to do to a house or apartment, we can do. But death rays and satellites? Nah. The boss has other people who deal with that.” She handed Blake a card. “Here.”

Blake read the card. Building Blocks Construction. “Wait… Diana owns Building Blocks Construction? Isn’t that one of the largest construction companies in the world?”

“Boss owns a lot of things, you just don’t know about them.” One of the women smirked. “There are all sorts of laws around that are supposed to stop companies growing too big and powerful, but there aren’t many people better than the boss at finding loopholes. Have enough shell companies and corporate trusts, and nobody can work out who owns what without already knowing. She even owns Dynamic Development, which is supposed to be one of Building Block Construction’s biggest competitors. She hasn’t even told the executives of either company that they’re basically on the same side. She thinks it’ll make them perform better.”

“In fairness,” the other woman said. “Performance measures are up by 15% year over year for both companies.”

“But you two know?” Blake asked.

“Well, we’ve been with the boss since she was a teenager. She trusts us. We’re Level 5 minions, so she knows that we’re trustworthy. It’s not like you’ll tell anyone.”

Blake had to concede the point. “Is that why she sent you because you’re Level 5s?”

“Yep. A Level 2 or 3 could do the job, but they might get curious about you or what this is all for. Not us. We trust the boss’s judgement, and we know when to ask questions and when to keep our mouths shut. If you want to soundproof for your apartment, we’re not going to ask why. We’re just going to get it installed and then ask if maybe you’d consider us when you finally decided to build a new house because you can’t find a house that suits your… circumstances.”

“And what would you know about my circumstances?” Blake growled.

“Hey, easy. The boss keeps tabs on all her friends. She likes to get ahead of any potential problems. Based on your… situation… there isn’t a house within a hundred and fifty miles of here that meets your needs. However, there are several properties large enough for us to build a house that suits your needs. It’s not like money is going to be an issue, and who better to build a house through than the boss? Huntresses take home security very seriously, and we know how to build houses that can stand up to everything short of the apocalypse.”

“And what if there is an apocalypse?”

“Well, we could put in an underground bunker. The boss has several cutting edge designs that are perfect for home use. You can ride out the end of the world in comfort and style.”

“…” Blake took a deep breath. “Maybe I will take you up on that. I’ll be back this evening.”

“Have fun,” the two women said together.

X X X

Author’s Notes

Poor Blake. At least, she won’t have to worry anymore. As for Diana, she’s an expert at skirting the rules but staying on the legal side of things. She has her fingers in all sorts of pies, and she has quietly put together a truly imposing business empire. The most hilarious thing is that a lot of people don’t realise that Diana is one of the co-owners of Dia Technologies, and that Dia Technologies is far, far larger than anyone truly realises since it is, for all intents and purposes, a conglomerate combining all of the businesses that Vanille (and her kids) and Diana (and her kids) eventually amass.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon.

Definitely check out my Amazon stuff if you enjoy my sense of humour.

#final rose #fanfiction #blake belladonna #diana yun-farron

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emmhannaford-blog · 5 years ago

Text

So we took the New Jersey Transit to New York City

The modern coach bus goes to the 42nd Street Port Authority. The Port Authority is one of the many hubs of ground transportation in NYC. Most of your major bus companies are located there and you can make connections with almost every subway line via a walking tunnel to Times Square. The rail hubs are Grand Central Station, connected by subway shuttle from Times Square, and Penn Station, a two-stop jaunt on the subway. The subway system in Manhattan is the quickest and most efficient form of transportation on the island, with stops within four to six blocks of each other. The system used to be confusing with many independent lines designated by different letters: IRT, BMT, etc. Today the various routes are designated by colors and either numbers or letters. A map shows all of the routes and their connecting points. The subways system today is very easy to follow. It is also safe, contrary to some people's perceptions. Here are a few little known facts about the system. The tunnels go at least eight stories below the ground. There are miles of mazes even under the tubes themselves, where the homeless have made their homes. On one of the lines from Manhattan to Queens, the tracks literally ride on water under the East River. Even engineers do not know how to correct the problem. The money collected at the ticket booths is sent by a special train which travels the system. The trains are very long, at least ten cars in length. Most of the cars have benches along the sides, which leaves most of the car for standing room. There are three exits on each side of the car, which allows quick entrance and egress. The riders are called strap hangers, because they hold on to straps hanging from the ceiling while riding. The newer cars post the next stop on signs in the car. Some even have a map of the route and the present location of the car lit up on the map.

The city of New York consists of five Boroughs: Kings (Manhattan), Queens, Bronx, Brooklyn, and Richmond (Staten Island). All of the boroughs are connected by subway or train or bus, except for Staten Island which is serviced by the famed ferry. More about the different areas when we visit them.

Went for desert at Cafe Lalo, where part of the movie "You've Got Mail" was filmed. Then we walked up Broadway to Fairfield Market, a few blocks South of World famous Zabars, a grocery and kitchen appliance store (but so much more: an experience). I was surprised by the variety of fresh produce and meats, fish, and poultry and relatively low prices. The aisles are very narrow in the store, due to the fact that space is at a premium in Manhattan. Buy an unlimited Metro Pass, $21.00 for the week, and hop on a Downtown bound bus on Broadway. Downtown means towards the Battery, the Southernmost point of Manhattan.

Uptown is Northbound and Cross-town is either to the East River(East Side) or the Hudson River(West Side). What a wonderful and safe way to see the city. We passed by Columbus Circle, the edge of Central Park, Julliard, Lincoln Center, the Theater District, and of course glitzy vibrant Times Square. The bus then turned East on 42nd Street and passed by the Public Library, Grand Central Station, and ended at The United Nations Building.

As long as fate brought us there, we toured the famed United Nations building. Mati from Senegal in Western Africa, was our tour guide and was very knowledgeable about the workings of the UN. It is not the paper tiger that some people claim it is. It is a real forum for all of the nations of the world to discuss mutual concerns: military conflicts, land mines, disease, hunger, trade, etc. Perhaps the real tigers are the ones who want to control the other nations or make huge profits by fostering these problems. Some of the Chambers were in use, namely the Security Council, and the Council for Economic and Social Justice. They were in session.

The Lexington Avenue bus goes further Downtown. Along the way we passed Chinatown, the Bowery, Little Italy, skirted Greenwich Village, and ended at city hall. There are so many different types of restaurants in NY that you could eat at a different one every single night and not repeat yourself for your entire lifetime.

Today we rode the subways. First we went Uptown to the Northern tip of Manhattan to Tryon Park and the fort. This is the highest point on Manhattan, overlooking both the Hudson and the East Rivers. At the northern most point of the park is The Cloisters Museum. This unique museum consists of five medieval cloisters rescued from buildings being demolished in Europe, along with chapels and numerous artifacts. Some of the statuary was being used as scarecrows by farmers, while others were found in junk piles. One outstanding room is the Unicorn Tapestries, which tell of the hunt, death, and resurrection of the unicorn-a symbol of Jesus Christ. The tapestries contain over one hundred different species of medieval plants woven into the stories. They are just breathtaking not only from their beauty but also from the textures of the weave.

We went back to Times Square and then hopped on the route #7 subway to Queens and Flushing Meadows, the site of the 1963 Worlds Fair with its massive sculpture of the world. On either side of the train station are Shea Stadium, home of the NY Mets baseball team and Arthur Ashe Stadium, site of the US Open Tennis Tournament. Back on the train to Times Square and on to W route to Coney Island at the tip of Brooklyn. We ate a Nathan's World Famous Hot Dog. It cannot compare to a Chicago Vienna Hot Dog. The amusement park was closed, open only on weekends while school is in session. The Cyclone, their famous roller coaster, had just closed up. Thank our growling stomachs for this lack of timing. It is open daily from 12:00 to 4:00. The coaster does not look like much. But looks are deceiving. This baby shakes, rattles, and rolls. I wanted to see if it still gave me the same thrills as the last time I rode it in 1963. But that was to be for a later day, which never came.

This day was reserved to visit the grand dame of New York City, the Statue of Liberty. Taking the train to Battery Park at the lower tip of Manhattan, we purchased our tickets at the Castle Clinton, once a fortress guardian for the harbor, then a concert venue (the American debut of Jenny Lind), then an immigration port of entry, and now the ticket office for our lady. Circular in design, it is only fitting that one must pass through a fortress to gain access to greet the great lady. On the fifteen minute boat trip to Governors Island it is easy to imagine the awe and deep feelings of overwhelming joy of the millions of immigrants who first envisioned her while sailing through the Verrazano Narrows into New York Harbor. The statue, donated by France over one hundred years ago, stands on another fort, one of five which guarded the harbor. The pedestal rises eleven stories and the lady herself stands one hundred fifty-one feet. Once again security is very tight and visitors are not allowed either in the museum, on the pedestal, or into the crown. But just being in her presence was as said in Hebrew, "Dayenu" (It would have been enough).

Embarking on the boat again we went to Ellis Island, built in 1892 to process the great flood of immigrants. Both of our ancestors arrived before that date, so they might have come through Castle Clinton, AKA, Gardens or a different port of entry. Charlie Walker was our Ranger tour guide. Once a drill instructor, he has a voice to match. He also missed his calling to the stage, because the tour he gave was more of a living presentation with a cast of characters than a boring recitation of facts and figures. polyamorous dating site He definitely loves his job. The experience of Ellis Island was reserved for passengers in steerage class. Remembering the movie "Titanic", steerage was the lowest of the low. The passengers in first and second class were processed on board ship. After they disembarked, the ship proceeded to Ellis Island. There the steerage class ran the gauntlet of the eyes of the inspectors. I was reminded of the pictures of the holocaust where the prisoners were "selected". If you walked funny, protested, or looked frail, your clothing was chalk-marked for further inspection and processing. Many of these people were fleeing tyrannical regimes and were terrified of uniformed men. Here in America they were being ordered about by more men. Families were separated, while the processing took place- men on one side and women and children on the other side of the room. The good news is that the process generally took less than five hours and only 2% of the twelve million immigrants were deported back to their home lands. The ones who remained took the trains Westbound out of New Jersey or stayed in NYC, digging the subways or other back breaking jobs.

Arriving back at Battery Park we walked to Broadway. At the entrance was the sculpture of the Peace Globe which stood in the World Trade Center Plaza. Miraculously it withstood the tragedy and is now at the foot of Broadway being kept vigil by an eternal flame. Although damaged, the globe still stands for peace in this world.

Walked through the financial district, which looks like a war zone, barricades and armed police patrolling the area. Our goal was Federal Hall at the corners of Nassau, Broad and Wall streets. Federal Hall was the first capital of the United States. Here Washington was sworn in as president and the Congress met. The building has long been torn down. In its place is a Neo-Classical designed building, Parthenon-like exterior and Pantheon-like interior. Used as a customs house and then as a depository for US gold reserves during the Civil War, it is now a museum remembering our first capital. One of their prized possessions is the Bible which Washington used for his inauguration (the one that President Bartlett wanted to use on "The West Wing").

Walking down famed Wall Street, where never have so many been raped by so few (written over five years ago), we went into Trinity Church where many come to pray after losing their life savings down the street. Built in 1696, the church has withstood many Wall Street crashes. Notable people buried there include Alexander Hamilton and Robert Fulton.

Many people talked to us about visiting St. John the Divine Cathedral. Happily, we took their advice. Started in 1892, this Gothic house of worship is over two football fields in length. The cathedral is still unfinished, but is still spectacular. Each set of stained glass windows has a different theme: poetry, medicine, law, etc. Standing in the immense interior is a humbling experience not to be missed. Around the high altar are side chapels, one which is reserved for local artists to show their work. At this time the children from the Cathedral's school have their artwork on display.

From St John's is a short bus ride to Grant's tomb, where he and his wife lay at rest. The interior is similar to Napoleon's tomb in Paris. Mrs.Grant chose New York, because the people were kind to them after they had become penniless. The tomb sits high on the palisades overlooking Riverside Park and the Hudson River.

Adjacent to the tomb is Sukaru Park, so named because of the numerous cherry trees in the park, which were donated by the Japanese government. In the park is a statue of General Daniel Butterworth, the composer of Taps (remember Berkeley Plantation in Virginia). He is looking over to Grant's tomb, keeping his eyes on that hallowed ground.

Across the street is Riverside Church, a Presbyterian Church noted for its grand carillon of over seventy bells. The nave of the church is Gothic in style, but not quite as large St. John's. The Church is part of Union Theological Seminary, which is connected with Columbia University also present in the neighborhood.

Hopped on the train again to Theodore Roosevelt's Birthplace. This is a large brownstone at 28 East 20th Street. The original house was torn down and a reconstructed one was erected according the similar design plans of others in the neighborhood. His sisters, still alive gave instructions about floor plans and the arrangement of furniture in the house, as they had remembered. Roosevelt, born in to a very wealthy family, suffered from asthma. After losing his first wife and mother within the same week, he moved out to North Dakota to find himself. There he rediscovered his love for nature and the independence of the common working man. To prove his virility, he longed for a war, which he got when the Battleship Maine blew up in Havana Harbor, Cuba. The Spanish were blamed for the sinking. He formed the Rough Riders in San Antonio, Texas, and the rest is history. Of his presidency he claimed that the building of the Panama Canal was his greatest achievement. Even though he was a war monger and empire builder, he is the first American to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his help in ending the Russian Japanese War.

A short distance South is Greenwich Village, not quite the Bohemian atmosphere it was in the 60s. It is still a thriving area of restaurants, small theaters, interesting shops, and people watching. Washington Square, the quasi-official entrance to the area, still has its checker and chess tables set up with games constantly going on.

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ducksbellorum · 5 years ago

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Remember the Name (listen/download)

a team destiny mix - stargate universe fandom - arranged by ducksbellorum

Before You Die : Bad Religion Team Scare up some hope, you’re gonna need it just to cope, You are the decision, numbers don’t lie When you bite the dust, was it for purpose or for trust? You’ll never relive it, think before you die. Faint : Linkin Park Dr. Nicholas Rush I do what I can but sometimes I don’t make sense I am what you never wanna say but I’ve never had a doubt It’s like no matter what I do I can’t convince you For once just to hear me out What I’ve Done : Linkin Park Col. Everett Young Put to rest What you thought of me While I clean this slate With the hands of uncertainty How About You? : Staind Rush & Young So you choose to force your hand What a strange way to make friends And you always change the rules So the drama never ends What About Everything? : Carbon Leaf Lt. Matthew Scott What about my broken car? What about my life so far? What about my dream? What about, what about everything? Ballad for Dead Friends : Dashboard Prophets Lt. Tamara Johansen I really wished I could have saved you Then who would have saved me from myself Right now, well, I could use a stiff drink To kill the pain thats deep inside my bones Inside Out : Eve 6 MSgt. Ronald Greer I see our time has gotten stale The tick tock of the clock is painful All sane and logical I want to tear it off the wall Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) : The Offspring Eli Wallace You know it’s kind of hard Just to get along today Our subject isn’t cool But he fakes it anyway Starlight : Muse Camile Wray But I’ll never let you go If you promised not to fade away Never fade away Our hopes and expectations How Far We’ve Come : Matchbox 20 Chloe Armstrong Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it’s gone, The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour And I started staring at the passengers who’re waving goodbye Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? Behind Blue Eyes : Limp Bizkit Col. David Telford No one knows what it’s like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes To Another Abyss : Bad Religion Destiny So long ago I set sail And it chills me to the bone That I’m so far away from home To another abyss Remember the Name : Fort Minor Team This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill Fifteen percent concentrated power of will Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain And a hundred percent reason to remember the name! Greer: Mike! - He doesn’t need his name up in lights He just wants to be heard whether it’s the beat or the mic He feels so unlike everybody else, alone In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him But fuck em, he knows the code It’s not about the salary It’s all about reality and making some noise Making the story - making sure his clique stays up That means when he puts it down Tak’s picking it up! Let’s go! Matt: Who the hell is he anyway? He never really talks much Never concerned with status but still leaving them star struck Humbled through opportunities given despite the fact That many misjudge him because he makes a living from writing raps Put it together himself, now the picture connects Never asking for someone’s help, or to get some respect He’s only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach And now it all unfolds, the skill of an artist Eli: This is twenty percent skill Eighty percent fear Be a hundred percent clear cause Ryu is ill Who would’ve thought that he’d be the one to set the west in flames And I heard him wreck it with The Crystal Method, “Name Of The Game” Came back dropped Megadef, took em to church I like bleach man, why you had the stupidest verse? This dude is the truth, now everybody’s giving him guest spots His stock’s through the roof I heard he’s fuckin’ with S. Dot! Telford: They call him Ryu, he’s sick And he’s spitting fire And Mike got him out the dryer he’s hot Found him in Fort Minor with Tak What a fuckin’ nihilist porcupine He’s a prick, he’s a cock The type woman want to be with, and rappers hope he get shot Eight years in the making, patiently waiting to blow Now the record with Shinoda’s taking over the globe He’s got a partner in crime, his shit is equally dope You wont believe the kind of shit that comes out of this kid’s throat Young: Tak! - He’s not your everyday on the block He knows how to work with what he’s got Making his way to the top He often gets a comment on his name People keep asking him was it given at birth Or does it stand for an acronym? No he’s living proof, got him rocking the booth He’ll get you buzzing quicker than a shot of vodka with juice Him and his crew are known around as one of the best Dedicated to what they do and give a hundred percent Rush: Forget Mike - Nobody really knows how or why he works so hard It seems like he’s never got time Because he writes every note and he writes every line And I’ve seen him at work when that light goes on in his mind It’s like a design is written in his head every time Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme And those motherfuckers he runs with, The kids that he signed? Ridiculous, without even trying, How did he do it?!

#stargate universe #sgu #destiny #fanmix #stargate

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canyouimaginethatstory · 6 years ago

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12. Melody of The Heart (Benny/OC imagine)

Imagine: You becoming a singer at the bar Benny works and over time he falls for you just by hearing your voice.

Summary: Amelia Karson got hired as a singer at the local bar. When she meets a handsome bartender what could possibly happen between them?

This is a work of my own.

Amelia stood in her apartment making sure her outfit was casual enough to sing in front of people. She had put her long, dark brown hair in a french braid, which brought out the blue and pink streaks in it. It really brought out her blue and grey eyes. She was born with heterochromia, so each eye was a different color. She had on a spaghetti strap, black dress that ended above her knees. She threw on a small, jean jacket, and a pair of black sandals. She applied some black eyeliner and some clear lipgloss. She grabbed her purse and headed to the little bar two blocks down the street. She had applied for a job as a singer there and today was sort of her audition. She walked into the bar and the smell of smoke and beer hit her nose. “You must be Amelia Karson,” a woman with tired brown eyes and messy brown hair said walking over to her and shaking her hand.

“I am,” she said.

“Ok let me introduce you to everyone,” she said pointing to two guys on stage, “That's Erin and Micky they play guitar and drums,” she waved to them. “That guy over there hiding behind the newspaper is Chris, he plays the keyboard,” she said and Amelia again waved, “I’m Ella Ross, the owner,” she pointed to herself and then to the bar, “and that handsome devil over there is Benny Smith the bartender,”. Amelia waved suddenly shy. “Guys, this is Amelia Karson,” Ella said. The band all waved back.

“Please to make your acquaintance Miss Karson,” Benny said. She didn’t know why, but his thick southern accent and his piercing blue eyes made her blush.

“Now we open in a few hours,” Ella said, “go up on stage, pick a song and if I like what I hear you’re hired and start tonight,”. Amelia hurried on stage to the mic.

“Do you guys know Every little thing by Carly Pearce?” she asked and they nodded. They started to play the music and soon Amelia started to sing. It didn’t take long for her to get lost in the song as she closed her eyes and sung. She never noticed, but the whole time she sang Benny couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was like he was almost entranced by her voice. When she finished everyone clapped.

“Well Amelia,” Ella said, “you got the job,”.

“Thank you,” Amelia said stepping off stage.

“Feel free to stick around until we open,” Ella said, “my employees drink free,”. She walked over to the bar and sat on one of the stools.

“What can I get ya?” Benny asked.

“Just a beer please,” she said. He grabbed a beer, popped the lid off it, and handed it to her, “thank you,”.

“If it's ok to say, Miss Karson,” Benny started, “you have an amazing voice,”. The compliment made her feel shy again and she could feel her cheeks warm up.

“Thank you, Benny,” she said, “and please call me Amelia,”. She soon found it very easy to talk to the handsome bartender. She loved the southern drawl in his voice, but there was something mysterious about Benny she couldn’t put her finger on. “So I told my mom when I was thirteen that I wasn’t doing the little miss pageants anymore. Singing is my true calling,” she said.

“Well it seems like you made the right call,” Benny said as Ella walked in from her office.

“Opening time soon,” she said, “Benny we low on anything?”.

“No ma’am,” he answered.

“You ready to rock the stage?” Ella asked Amelia.

“Always,” Amelia said. She and Benny talked for a while longer as people started to show up. An hour after opening the place was pretty packed.

“Stage time Amelia,” Ella said walking over to the stage as Amelia followed, “Ladies and gentleman give a nice, warm welcome for The Golden Rose’s new singer Amelia Karson!,”. Amelia waved as she took the microphone off the stand.

“You guys ready to dance?!” she called out through the mic and the crowd cheered, “what do you wanna hear?!”. She listened until a song she knew would be fun to sing caught her ears. “Guys, we’re doin Cowboy Casanova by Carrie Underwood,”. The band started and she soon lost herself in the song. She soon had everyone either dancing, singing along, or both. When the song ended everyone clapped or hollered. “I’ll be back on stage in a bit with a slow song,” she said before they turned the radio in the bar on as she headed back to the bar.

“Can I get ya somethin Amelia?” Benny asked.

“Rum and coke?” she asked.

“Comin up,” he said and went off to make the drink. He came back a few minutes later, “here ya go,”. She gladly took and sipped the drink.

“I say you’ll be a star in no time,” Benny said.

“That would be really cool,” she said placing her cup down on a napkin.

“Well you already have your number one fan,” he said with a wink and smile before having to make more shots for others. Which was good so he didn’t see her blush to the shade of a rose. They talked here and there until it was time for Amelia to get on stage again.

“Ok everyone this is a slow song,” she announced, “so any couples out there get on the floor,”. She told the band to start the music for Amazed by Lonestar. Benny watched her intently as she sang. Her voice was like some form of magic. It felt like it was pulling him to her. He hadn’t felt this strong of an...atraction? To anyone in a very long time. As the song ended everyone cheered and she smiled as she watched the sweet kisses couples shared. Ella hopped on stage and grabbed the mic.

“Amelia Karson, let her hear it one more time guys!” she said and the crowd cheered again. She waved to them and hurried off the stage, “Bar closes in an hour y’ all so enjoy yourselves,”. An hour later after the bar closed Ella sat at the bar counting the tips from the tip jar. “Wow two hundred bucks in tips,”.

“Really?” Amelia asked, “is that the usual amount a night?”.

“Not in a long time,” Ella said. She soon split the money into two piles of a hundred dollars then split one of the piles into two piles of fifty dollars. She handed one to Benny and the other to Amelia. Amelia looked confused.

“What's this?” she said taking the money.

“I always split half the tips between bartender and singer,” Ella said picking up the rest of the money, “rest of the tips goes into the bar money,”.

“Wow, thanks Ella,” Amelia said.

“You earned it girl,” Ella said, “you two head on home now,”.

“I hate walking home in the dark,” she said with a giggle grabbing her purse.

“Which way ya headed?” Benny asked.

“Two blocks up the street,” she said.

“I’m headed three block’s up. I can walk with you,” he offered.

“I don’t wanna be a bother Benny,” she said.

“I insist,” he said, “please?”.

“If you're sure it’s no bother,” she said.

“I’m sure,” he said. Soon they waved goodbye to Ella and headed up the street. They walked in silence for a few moments. Then Amelia realized something.

“You know you never really told me about yourself,” she pointed out.

“Well, I was born in Carencro, Louisiana,” he started, “and I was a bit rebellious and fell in with the wrong crowd for a long time. I eventually met a girl and I thought we were in love. Then I had to leave for a while. When I returned she was in love with someone who I thought was a friend,”. He spun the truth so he could best explain it.

“Wow,” she said, “I’m really sorry, but hey it sounds like her loss,”. Benny smiled. Amelia couldn’t help, but notice how gorgeous he was when he smiled. After some more small chat, they reached her apartment building, “well this is me,” she said, “thank you for walking me home,”.

“Pleasure was all mine,” he said, “Um if it would be ok, the bar is closed on Sundays, maybe I could take you to dinner then if it's ok?”. Amelia smiled.

“That would be nice Benny, sure,” she said. His face lit up.

“Goodnight Amelia,” he said gently grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it,

“I’ll see you tomorrow,”. She nodded.

“Goodnight Benny,” she said and entered her apartment building.

Request Info: Here

#supernatural #benny lafitte #imagines #vampire

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theuniversitychallengereview · 6 years ago

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UC 48.37 - Grand Final, Edinburgh vs Teddy Hall

Nine months. Eighteen hours of televised quizzing. More than two thousand two hundred increasingly complicated questions, like Russian dolls on a Mobius strip. Twenty-eight teams. Only two remain. Those are some statistics, but what of the people. These numbers tell part of the story, but they omit the crucial humanity that make this show unlike any other; the high fives and the fist-bumps, the hearts in the mouths and on the sleeves, the hopes and dreams that bloomed and ballooned, the lampooned and the festooned (a bit of a tacky end to the sentence, I know, but I was on a roll. You can count yourself lucky I didn’t try and get marooned in there, too).

For the first time in thirty-five years, Scotland has an institution in the Grand Final. Edinburgh, having fallen to the Champions Elect at the semi final stage in each of the past two series, finally made it one step further by beating Durham, who had earlier bested them in the quarter finals. They had previously swept aside Sidney Sussex in their opening match, before beating UCL on the final starter of their second round match, with captain Max Fitz-James sealing the victory.

It was Fitz-James who was the key to Edinburgh’s chances going in, with his twenty-six starters twelve clear of their next best buzzer, local lad Robbie Campbell Hewson, although RCH came up with some huge answers at vital times in their semi final. Fitz-James however, also leads the team, and the tournament (and is possibly the all time leader) in Negs, with ten incorrect interruptions to his name. He was also the go-to-guy for guesses, with a further fifteen non-penalized buzzes in his fingers. If he could get the balance right between reckless abandon and the pulling of rabbits from hats then his side might well have a chance. And they would go in knowing that caution would not serve them well given the man in the opposite captain’s chair.

Freddy Leo, described by the Times this week as "having drawn comparisons to Cristiano Ronaldo” (which, while perhaps not unlike analogies I myself may have drawn, coming from a national media which only ever covers the final, smacks of the kind of laziness eschewed by someone describing the Marvel Cinematic Universe as being ‘somewhat of a cultural juggernaut’ only in the leadup to the release of Avengers: Endgame), has amassed forty-one starters in one fewer game than Fitz-James, so the Frenchman will have gone in one hundred percent ready to flex those buzzer fingers at even the merest whiff of a guess, being fully aware that if he hesitated just the slightest moment, his German counterpart would be there to steal the points. Leo had already seen off this series’ other Big Bee (because they buzz so much, get it?) in his own semi-final, with Teddy Hall beating Darwin College despite Jason Golfinos’ best efforts and eight starter questions. He’s also shown that he has steel and nerve, with a comeback from a hundred points down against Bristol University (Bristanbul, maybe, for football fans) perhaps the grittiest performance in recent years.

But even he could not be a team by himself, with Agastya Pesharody and Marcelline Bresson popping up at important moments in their semi final victory. Completing their quartet was Lizzie Fry, and were they to win they would become only the second side in the Paxman Era (beginning in 1995) to do so having been less than 75% male.

Anyway, let’s not bother with the rules, here’s your first starter for ten.

As predicted, it was Fitz-James who was first out of the blocks, but not unsurprisingly, his speculative buzz of Maypole Dancing (not Maple dancing, as I’d originally thought he’d said) put Edinburgh in the not-unfamiliar territory of negative points. Fry, who would double her total for the series with three in the final (truly a player for the big occasion, rather like Cristiano Ronaldo in that sense) opened her account with Morris Dancing. One bonus on paperclips followed, with Leo dismissing the Netherlands as the country who had worn such items in their lapels because he knows that if they had, then the Dutch Bresson would have said so already. A sign of a team that trusts and is in sync with one another.

Leo claims his forty-second decimal of the series on the next starter, with his arm-cocked buzzer-stab technique deployed with trademark verve. Bonuses on the ever-relevant subject of ‘Persistent Courtship in the Nineteenth Century (specifically in novels)’ serve them better than paperclips, although Leo is perhaps fortunate to get the points on the first of these, forgetting to add the author of Far From the Madding Crowd to his answer (though to be honest requiring both seems pretty needless, given that the two pieces of information would never come uncoupled in the mind of a University Challenge finalist. They would know both or neither in this context). The third he pulls from the ether after a period of intense concentration, startling even his teammates with his sudden remembrance of David Copperfield’s Peggotty. Teddy Hall are forty-five points clear.

Neither side manages to guess what is essentially a ‘guess a number’ question, before Malusa bursts into life and fires Edinburgh back above zero. Paxman delights in delivering the bonus description in the manner of a stand-up comedian, ‘questions on the periodic table *pause for effect* in Chinese’. Cue laughter. This doesn’t trouble the Scottish quartet, who rattle through the hat-trick with little more than a ‘hmm, is it bromine or iodine? Its probably bromine’ (reader, it was bromine).

Wearing a burgundy jacket (and hailing from Burgundy, France, but not, presumably, having drunk any burgundy wine beforehand), Fitz-James gets his evening going at the third attempt (having also guessed on the ‘guess a number question’) with the Picture starter, a Shakespearean Venn diagram. He would also take the second Picture starter (little bit of foreshadowing for you there). With two of the bonuses, Edinburgh are level. Deuce.

A second starter of the night goes to Leo, and when Fry picks up another Fitz-James fumble it looks as if the game might be starting to get away from Edinburgh. But Pesharody is unlucky in forgetting that his answer on the next starter required two parts, and isn’t allowed the time to grasp for the second when he realises. Campbell Hewson, Edinburgh’s vulture, takes his correct morsel and completes it. Alpha and Omega. Romping through another hat-trick, this time on Iron Maiden, put the Scots firmly back on track.

The music questions came in three parts, with four sets of three tunes relating to the colours of the horizontal bands on national flags (if you’re not with me we’re about halfway round the loop of that Russian Doll mobius I was on about earlier, and yes, I have no idea what I’m trying to infer by that phrase either). No one gets the starter, for which, as well as containing three difficult clues, the answer was Armenia (the kind of question that makes a Queen of she who makes it), but Edinburgh manage to decipher Estonia and take the lead for the first time in the contest.

Now it is Teddy Hall who seem lost, and Edinburgh who have all the luck, Fitz-James throwing away the correct Aggripina with misplaced resignation and the assertion that he is wrong. Malusa, who had only five starters to his name before the final, then takes his second of the night, and a full set on Elizabeth Catlett completes a hat-trick of hat-tricks on the bonuses. All of these trebles meant that they had opened up a fifty point lead.

At this stage of the game most teams would have been beaten by such a margin, but Teddy had come back from twice that already in this competition, and the next hat-trick is completed by Fry as she steals a third starter from under Fitz-James’ over-eager nose.

Pesharody makes up for his earlier mistake (like Cristiano Ronaldo when he scored a hat-trick (oh look, another hat-trick) in the second leg of Juventus’ Round of 16 match in this year’s Champion’s League versus Atletico Madrid, having scored what looked suspiciously like an own goal (although it was credited to Diego Godin) in the 2-0 reverse of the first leg) with yet another pick-up from an ill-considered Fitz-James guess. It almost looks as though his (Fitz-James’) second picture starter of the night won’t matter, as first Leo, and then Bresson (with the speed and conviction of five-time ballon d’or winner Cristiano Ronaldo) buzz in decisively to swing the lead back down to Oxford with only seconds remaining by the slimmest of margins.

There would only be time for one more starter. Nine months. Eighteen and a half hours of televised quizzing. More than two thousand two hundred increasingly complicated questions. Only time for one more...

Answer as soon as your name is called. What two digit number...

If Fitz-James had the gumption he could have gone for a one in ninety (note: ‘How many two digit numbers are there? would be a good starter question) wild guess, but he doesn’t. Wise.

...is equivalent to the Roman numerals that form the first three letters of the city that was the birthplace of...

This is such a classic University Challenge question that its almost like they planned for it to be the deciding question in the final.

...William Gladstone...

No one has the faintest.

...Beryl Bainbridge...

Some cogs start to whirr.

...And Wayne Rooney...

By now everyone knows it, but they’re frantically trying to convert LIV into a two digit number. Leo launches downwards, but Campbell Hewson has beaten him to it. Elbow perpendicular to the desk, with his hand curled and a few inches from his face as if he wants to lapse into the classical philosopher pose but knows it would be too meme-able, he frowns, but does not hesitate.

Fifty-four.

Fifty-four is correct.

They can be pretty sure they’ve won it now, but they add two more bonuses before the gong sounds to confirm them as University Challenge champions.

Final Score: Edinburgh 155 - 140 St Edmund Hall, Oxford

Max Fitz-James, Marco Malusa, Matt Booth, Robbie Campbell Hewson. The first non-Oxbridge institution to claim the trophy since 2013. The first Scottish winners of University Challenge since 1983. Congratulations, gents. You sent Proud Edmund’s army homeward, to think again.

What a match, and what a series it has been. Leo and Teddy Hall have to be immensely proud of their achievements, and were unfortunate that they came up against an Edinburgh side who had the quiz of their lives.

Novelist Sebastian Faulks came on to present Edinburgh with the trophy, and he echoed the sentiments of many viewers when he said he found the questions staggeringly difficult. Comedian Ed Gamble recently said that he’s watched almost every episode of Only Connect and never got a question right. To some, that might seem nonsensical, being as an observer so far away from the level of the players, but people watch football knowing full well that they would be unable to tonk one in from thirty yards (yes, like Cristiano Ronaldo), and the joy of University Challenge, like all sport, comes from the thrill of the competition, and from watching people who are exemplary at something being exemplary at it.

Until next time, goodbye.

#university challenge #bbc2 #st edmund hall #teddy hall #oxford #edinburgh #jeremy paxman

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