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fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes · 4 months ago

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Chapter 5 of Revenge Can Hurt More Than the Person It's Aimed at (Nygmobblepot x Reader)

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Chapter 5: The Talk About Oswald and Ed, and Continued Bathroom Thoughts Word count: 4366 Author's note: This is the chapter I've been looking forward to for the longest time since getting the idea for this fic 🥰🥺 (well, I split it up because otherwise it would take longer for you to get an update)

No additional warnings:)

Look at this picture I edited 😊 You readers look good on it 😉😂 _________________

When Ed finally heard your voice, serious and distraught, you didn't even greet him but come right to the point, "Ed, you have to tell me what happened between you and Oswald." He gasped. "Whatever it is..." What could he? Telling you of his plans would be unwise: unlike Oswald and him, you were against murder and torture in most cases, so both criminals had tried to shield you from this side of their jobs as best as they could.

One time you'd overheard a call from Victor Zsasz with chilling background noises that even Oswald would've wished weren't so loud through the phone and afterwards Ed had assured you that the person being tortured deserved it, only for you to get even more concerned because you asked yourself what they could've possibly done to deserve this. Eventually it had been Oswald who managed to console you by telling you how many people could die if this person didn't share crucial information.

Yes, telling you more than you needed to know would only do unnecessary harm. Ed couldn't talk about the whole Isabella thing on the phone. What else could he tell you?

"Ed?" You sounded anxious. "Yes?" Not far away from him, you made sure that no one could overhear this personal talk, "The thing that made Oswald so sad?" "Oh. Right. Uhm..." He didn't continue, so you explained, "The interview was a disaster, a-and I can tell you that it didn't have to do with anyone present, at least that wasn't the main reason, I mean, Margaret Hearst was sort of rude but..."

So you had been there. Ed wondered what that might mean for his plans: you'd no doubt supported Oswald but at least the interview had still exposed the mayor's true feeelings. Ed was too distracted by your tone to concentrate on that. He could hear how desperately you needed to know the truth. Were you crying? He wished he could see your face.

You started pacing. "It's not as if his mother's death day was around this time, right? Also, b—" "Yes, that would be in-apologies, I interrupted you." "Don't worry." You admired his good memory but right now you wanted to find out how you could help Oswald, preferably with your voice still intact or well, at least intact enough for Ed to hear you clearly.

You stepped away from City Hall's big entrance and paced back and forth near the bottom of the stairs, the light sandy wall shielding your from anyone walking out this way. "A-anyways, business seemed to be okay, at least as mayor he was cheered on just a few days ago..." Your voice was uneven but still far better than Oswald's today. Ed took notice of it, thinking it more likely that it was due to your concern and not for example a cold.

Could he tell you about the fake love confession? Probably not, after all, he needed to make Oswald miserable for this plan to work and he couldn't have you working your magic on the other man. He tapped on his phone and clenched and unclenched his other hand. If both were free, he'd be shaking them nervously. "Ed? Please." You were definitely sad, maybe crying, Ed decided. "Yes! Uhm, well...I think you already listed a lot of reasons."

He started walking; perhaps movement would help him come up with an appropriate theory or lie to tell you. He looked at the sunlit trees and the building Oswald must still be in and went a little closer but still far away enough from the entrance so you wouldn't see him should you be there.

Meanwhile you were tired of being stuck in the same place as before the call. Ed had to know something! "Please, Edward, be honest with me. Oswald is..." Your sight blurred from tearing up. "He's not just in a bad mood because of the interview. I-in case you haven't heard of it — of course you didn't, you were busy — uhm, he...told everyone that he doesn't care about the citizens of Gotham and in an, uh, aggressive tone no less. But that's not my main concern. He's miserable! Has been miserable ever since you left. I think." Explaining was getting harder and harder for you.

Your sniff could be heard through the phone. Ed automatically took a few steps towards the building you were presumably in. "I told you I need to be alone to grieve." "Yes, of course." You felt a little guilty about momentarily forgetting Isabella's death, yet still had the feeling that Ed wasn't telling you everything. "But he doesn't just miss you. You two haven't even talked, now have you? He recently asked how you were doing..." Oswald had phrased it in a way that could make you assume he merely hadn't had the time, yet you left that out, certain that it had been his way of hiding his lack of communication with Ed.

Ed's pace grew faster. Oswald had asked you about him? Even when he knew that he had no chance with him? He instincively stepped closer to the road in front of the large stairs.

You only heard faint footsteps through the phone. Was Ed outside too? It didn't matter unless he was here to make things right. Why didn't Ed say anything?! Maybe he's in a dangerous neighborhood. You immediately felt sorry. He better take care of himself. Oswald being down is bad enough. You decided to give him a break and take a moment to think.

Oswald had claimed Ed had left due to criminal business. At first you believed him, then doubts started to fill your brain when it became clear that they weren't talking anymore. Still, you'd let them be, after all, who knew, maybe Ed had to pretend that he'd broken ties with the King of Gotham so he could gain their enemies' trust.

Fittingly enough, Ed had been busy pretty frequently. Busy and strange... When he talked with you over the phone, his voice carried more melancholy than when he'd been grieving at the mansion, and there was something else in it, a sort of anger that you sometimes felt was directed at the place you often slept in...or its inhabitants...or more precisely: Oswald.

Nevertheless, you'd given Ed the benefit of the doubt because after all, what could possibly destroy this friendship? What could make Oswald as devastated as today? Ed heard you crying. Think, think think think. Your friend needs your support too, not just the other way round! Your uneven breathing coming through the phone distracted him while you recollected today's events.

Oswald had had blood on his white shirt and not even denied it! Whether it was his or not, he'd said things: that he needed to go and...what had he whispered repeatedly? You hadn't fully taken in the words then. That someone should wait for him. "..., wait!" Farther, father... "Father, wait!" "I have to go." Oh no. "Ed?" "Yes!" You didn't want to make presumptions about Oswald but you'd share them with Edward if it meant getting information to help Oswald.

"Tell me." "Uh, maybe you could ask him first?" he attempted. You leaned your back against the stone wall. "Ed, I'm ser-" your voice broke, "serious." Ed felt his nails dig into his palms, he forced himself to walk to battle the stress. If listening to your worries was painful, then how were you feeling? "If he hasn't told you, then perhaps he can't talk about it yet. So I'd say it's best if we just-" "-I think he wants to die." "What?! H—" You burst into tears and Ed fell silent, only hearing your sobbing.

You let the tears spill and leaned more heavily on the wall to the right of the stairs, breathing irregularly and not caring about the blurred world around you anymore. Your assumption wasn't even an exaggeration! You began sinking down and could only stop your clothes from touching the pavement at the last second. At that you let out a tired snivel and didn't bother trying to stop crying.

Ed could hear it, hear your despair, quite loudly, actually. He eyed the area in front of him. There were a few parked cars, no one seemed to be walking out of the building, but in front of the stairs was a crouched figure, leaning against the wall. Despite your position, he recognized you immediately with an additional wave of pain to his chest and gut. "Where are you?" he said with a sudden tone of urgency. You sniffed. "Out...side City Hall. Near the stairs." A choked noise escaped your throat. "Why?"

"I...I'm nearby right now. Just wait where you are." "Ka-okay", you spluttered and he could see you clutching at your phone. He should probably wait a few minutes so he could better explain why he'd said he wouldn't be available. Ed balled his hand into a fist, then tried to relax it immediately. "I'll be there shortly." Crying. "Everything's gonna be alright." It had to. Breathing heavily, you didn't stop shedding tears. Instead, it was possibly becoming worse. "I-I think I can see you now." You whimpered, too much of a wreck to look up and his promise too unrealistic. "Yes, I see you. I'm gonna hang up now. I'll run." He started running, hitting the sidewalk loudly with his polished shoes. "Y/n!" You looked up. "Y/n." Ed's here? You craned your neck and there he was, a strand of his brown hair fallen out of its gelled-backed place, and eyeing you with concern. The strain from looking up at him from your position become too much, so you let your head hang down again. You wanted to say something, explain your theory, but the hopelessness kept you from doing so.

Ed too wanted to say something, tell you that you needn't worry, that Oswald deserved what was happening to him. He crouched down to look into your eyes and stared at them, took in how filled to the brink they were, overflowing with tears this whole mess had caused you. "I can exp-" a sob shook you. He cleared his voice to speak again but your crying was too loud, it would be inappropriate if he spoke louder: you made the impression that you'd only become more devasted if he did so.

"Hey", he spoke softly, when you didn't hear him again, just a little bit louder, "Hey. It's gonna be okay." He stroked your side. "Look at me." You did, noticing the shock passing his face upon seeing your lovely face drowned in tears. "I promise I will tell you..." Could he promise to tell you everything? What he'd done to Oswald had gone differently than planned. He hadn't meant to... Ed took a steadying breath. At the moment you were all he wanted to focus on. "I promise to tell you what's up with Oswald." He gulped. "But let's get you to a better place first."

He held out his hand and breathed out when you distanced yourself from the wall and wrapped your arms around him. It was the first time you'd seen one another in weeks. You began to take deeper breaths, using Ed's tall body as a focuspoint. You loved him and Oswald so much, why couldn't they all just be happy?! Ed detected the movement of your upper body instantly. While your arms trembled, his hands stroked over your back with sure movements. Between your body against his, your shaky breaths and your scent he now took in with a nostalgic feeling of fondness, it took him some time to remember what he'd even been doing here. Laughing with Miss Kean seemed hours away.

He let his hands fall down and took a step away. "Is-where is Oswald, right now?" You cleared your throat. "He... said he'd go to the ba—bathroom, that he was near-" your voice wavered, "near a panic attack." You looked at him expectantly, searching for sympathy or guilt. He definitely showed concern but for who you couldn't tell. "Why?" "So you're waiting for him?" "Yes?" "Be-because it would be best if...Let's move away from the entrance, so that we can talk in private." Your voice was raw from the crying, "But not too far away." You got out your phone. "I'll text Oswald to wait in the car." "You're sleeping at the mansion tonight?" There was definitely angry undertone to his question. Was Ed jealous of Oswald? "Maybe." You had slept at the mansion most of the time since Oswald's election as mayor. It had become your home, as you had thought it had Ed's.

"What's wrong?" You didn't have the nerves for his question evading right now. "Nothing. Just... Perhaps he could use some distance." "Why-" you were still crying and Ed still wasn't answering your very pressing question, "why's that? He made a gesture you didn't understand. "It..it, uhm," he cleared his throat, "certainly helped me after Kr-Isabella's death." You felt bad because of your assumption. Of course he wasn't upset about you being at the place you'd all lived in. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'll text him. Then we can move a few feet." _________________

Oswald was looking down, away from his mirror image. How late was it? He opened his telephone to make sure. The interview had been scheduled to end—no, he couldn't rely on it, he'd taken this small chance away from himself. One (1) message from y/n ly/n. He'd once thought about adding some cute nickname on your profile as well as Ed's, then thought the better of it and quietly scolded himself for potentially endangering you like this. Hey, Ozzie, I'm going outside for a moment. Call or text me when you're ready, you can wait in the car, no need to put pressure on your leg :)

Was he saved as Ozzie in your phone? In any case, it managed to lift his spirits a little to know that you still used the term of affection for him after hearing him make a statement so uncharacteristic of someone deserving of a term of endearment. Well, it was a nickname but still: he'd had enough bad ones yelled at him — as had Edward — to treasure it when someone meant no harm with them.

Did you call the other man nicknames ither than Ed sometimes? Ed had never visited you or seen you in a different place, at least as far as Oswald knew. You wouldn't meet at his father's house in secret, would you? Surely having to make sure Oswald didn't walk in would take too much effort and be too stressful.

And yet I've kept the biggest secrets from y/n for even longer, Oswald realized. Killed Isabella. Confessed my love for Edward. But not without showing how utterly doleful I am. You had been cheerless more than too much, he admitted. Perhaps you were hiding something. Or maybe Edward really hadn't seen you for weeks.

Anger sparked in him. Maybe Ed forgot you in all his mourning over a woman he'd known for days. You didn't deserve this, to lose your friend because Oswald had messed up. Why couldn't Ed see how much his friends loved him? He'd been shocked that Oswald wanted him to be his boyfriend but he knew how much they all cared about each other, that you treasured him as a friend! If Ed didn't even want contact with you because of what Oswald had said, then he should prepare himself for Oswald's anger. You mustn't suffer from unrequited feelings, romantic or not. He huffed and felt a bit of strength return to him through the protective anger stirring inside of him. Ed better not break your heart too! Oswald relaxed his grip so he wouldn't crush his phone. He turned it in his hands and sudenly remembered your unanswered text message, "Why didn't I think of this earlier?" he mumbled, and quickly replied to it, saying that he was starting to feel less panicky but that you could take your time enjoying the fresh air, he'd meet you in the car in about 20 minutes. _________________

After you sent the text, Ed gently led you to a place where you could sit in peace. Still shaking, you leaned against him and tried to look into his eyes. For a moment you did, staring at the sympathy and surprise evident in his brown eyes. Then the thought crossed your mind that the secret problem had to be something very dangerous or complicated if Ed hadn't offered you an explanation yet. As soon as you started sobbing again, he wrapped his arms around you and stroked your back, feeling the tremors and hearing you whine.

Contrary to what Barbara had said, Ed now started to realize that he may have gone too far. He'd been doing to you what he had only wanted to do to Oswald. I only meant for him to get hurt, he wanted to tell you but knew that he hadn't managed to achieve that. Revenge can hurt more than the person it's aimed at.

He spread his hands over your back and moved them upwards to the back of your head. Weeping, you buried it in his chest. "It looked as if he'd h-hurt himelf." "Oh." "And after the," you snivelled, "the..." A helpless whine caught in your throat. "It'll...it will be all right." You felt Ed's heart beating faster. " I'll tell you when you're ready. Alright?" Too unsettled to speak, you nodded against his chest.

Oswald wants to die? Ed shivered and started cradling your body, trying to calm himself with your closeness. Your plan was to break him, what did your expect? Now he wants to die. He wants to die. Ed was hit with a wave of guilt. He'd only wanted Oswald hurt, sad, but not like this! He didn't even tell himself that he felt only bad about it because of you. I'll correct it somehow. The potential was still there to comfort Oswald a bit before he learned the truth about Ed's plan of revenge.

Ed felt your hands on his back and moved his over yours, this time aiming to soothe himself as well. Yes, he'd still have the chance to bring a little bit of joy back into Oswald's life. After all, it would be the second to last time he'd see the man. With shock Ed realized that he'd never see Oswald happy again if he didn't see to it that he was. Of course the mayor would be glad to "save" Ed's life but it wouldn't be the cheerful spark Ed had often admired in his sea green eyes. You moved your head against Ed and pressed it into him as he inched closer. Ed was determined now: He'd hug Oswald one last time, hold the smaller man close and soak up the false love he pretended to offer. Oswald would hug him, right? At the very least when he'd come to Ed's "rescue". He'd need to prevent Os from distancing himself from him.

You were still crying and Ed was stroking you absentmindedly, closer to you than you'd dared to dream of in the last weeks. His fingers were almost fidgeting against you except that they were more controlled, trying to soothe you while his arms steadied you. Letting the feeling calm you as best as it could, you moved your fingers over the fine fabric of his suit. Fittingly enough, he took deep breaths to let your scent calm him just as you you wondered whether it helped him as much as smelling his familiar scent helped you. Ed's voice was rough when he murmured, "This is so much better than texting."

Why did I say that? he asked himself, puzzled: it felt as if he had just bared a big secret part of himself. The raspy agreement you made brought his attention back to you. Yes, that's right, I should treasure the time we have, he thought as he took another breath of your familiar scent and felt energy flow back to him at your touch.

With his presence and gentle touches, Ed was giving you the much-needed sign that he still cared about you. Soon you'd be ready to speak, and he felt it too in the way your breathing changed.

While you collected your thoughts, Ed thought about how he could make you happy again. You cared so much about Oswald that he had a sudden urge to let the man live. He tried to make it fit together, find a reason to believe that he'd get fully over Isabella: Oswald had managed to become strong again after his mother's death, and he had been wary of Ed in the beginning whereas Ed had started his journey of grief already having a friend in you, who'd been there for him from the moment he'd gotten the call from the GCPD to ask him to come as quickly as possible. How much grief did he even feel? Today all he felt was anger followed by concern.

For a moment, he let himself imagine a life in which he let Oswald live: Ed wouldn't meet another partner, wouldn't even want one, because you'd have each other. He pictured it: he'd get to enjoy Oswald's presence again, see him devour sandwiches with spicy mustard — adorably innocent compared to when he'd command respect in a meeting room or when the two of them had fun with traitors — and hear Oswald's voice — talking, humming, laughing, singing — when he came home late and was welcomed by both him and you and have a relaxing evening on the couch. Ed let the idea soothe him: you'd hug, sometimes all three of you together, and everything would be alright, he wouldn't even want a second chance with Miss Kringle, just being with the two of you would be perfect.

There was still a flicker of anger in him but Ed was focused enough on the positive that as he felt you stir, now collected enough to talk and listen, he swore to himself that whatever may come, he'd hug Oswald at least once more, and make sure that you felt loved. _________________

Oswald had started scrubbing at the blood stain on his white shirt and felt guilt pricking at his insides because he had hurt both you and Ed.

Still, he wondered why Ed would try to get him to confess. The more he thought about it, the more he believed in the theory that Ed loved you both (hence why Ed hadn't told you about Oswald's confession) but that he'd gotten cold feet and rejected Oswald before he could be rejected by you so soon after loosing Isabella.

Ugh, how could Ed fall in love with her but not Oswald and you? Or at least with you. Oswald sniffed. He didn't deserve Ed, had hurt him too much. But you, why couldn't Ed see you the same way Oswald did? You cared so much for them, knew how to soothe them and prevent triggering unhappy memories, had loveable characteristics that made Isabella seem even more boring in comparison, and you were so good — at least in Gotham standards — that Oswald wanted to give you the world nearly every time he looked at you. Didn't Ed see all that?

Of course he didn't. He hadn't even asked about the Founders' Dinner where Oswald could've died, instead smiling with Isabella as if he hadn't admired you with a similar look on his handsome face mere days ago!

If things weren't so complicated, Oswald would think himself a better option than the sometimes stupid genius but alas he couldn't and he knew why. Oswald had the perstistent fear that if you knew what he'd done, you would never want to be with him, hell, maybe never even see him again! He rubbed harder over the shirt's fabric.

He'd become a better person, he promised himself, be a bit more patient, become forgiving when it was needed, not murder his crush's partner so quickl-no: not at all. He sighed, shoulders heavy with the knowledge that you would be angry with him for thinking this way, or worse, afraid. He shook his head, as if trying to prove his motivation to become a better person, someone you and Ed deserved. Until you were ready, he'd have to keep his feelings to himself, allow no thoughts of what your names would look like together on an invation or what gifts he could give you when you were finally together.

Oswald's head sunk down from the weight of it all, directing his gaze to his shirt cuffs. The blood was wiped away. What would he even do, he needed to give you a good excuse, then successfully bottle his emotions up, cross those thoughts of affection and happiness out and— That was it! He let out a hysterical cry of joy and grabbed his phone to tell you that he'd be downstairs in around fifteen minutes, then quickly left the bathroom to go to his office.

There he scrabbled about, threw one or two pens in the wrong color away, and finally found one he'd usually never use. It was light red and perfect for what he had in mind.

Oswald flexed and relaxed his fingers to ensure a secure grip on the pen, then bent over and wrote your name. +Ed. +Oswald. He half considered drawing a heart around the three names but thought the better of it, instead taking the image in for a few seconds and making a promise to earn both of you, be it as friends or as partners.

After a few moments, he gripped the pen again and crossed everything out. Then he stowed it away where you wouldn't come across it by chance and went back to the bathroom. He needed to wash parts of it away — as well as the new tears that had run down his cheeks.

_________________ Author's note: Title dropped! 😂🤗 I hope you liked this chapter and that the length made up for the break time ❤

Next chapter->

(@gabriella-aesthetic I'm not sure whether you wanted to be tagged in the next chapters as well, let me know if that's not the case & I'll remove it :))

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infinitegalahad · 1 year ago

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AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER 3

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Identifying! Reader Summary: Your relationship with Robert grows stronger and much more intimate. While he is a man of experience, you are not. However, Robert has no issue in helping you explore. Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: First-time touches prove to be a little overwhelming for the reader in the beginning but are 100% addressed and consensual. This is a minor piece of the story. Notes: This chapter and the next one were planned as one big chunk, but I separated them. Since A, I haven't written the other half, and B, I loveeee cliffhangers! Also, once again, thank you so much for the support! It keeps me going. And don't worry, the next chapter will be here veryyyyyy soon! It should hopefully be worth the wait :D Taglist | Masterlist

Fall in the West is far different from what it is in the Northeast.

There’s a breeze but not a chill in the air. The sun is still warm, yet not as warm as it is in the summer months, which is enough for sweater weather to commence. You thanked your mother for shipping out some of your fall wear. While you knew you had the money to buy new clothes, you saw no need as most of them were hand-me-downs from your older sister, who was seven years older. The two of you differed in fashion, and you thought some of the sweaters made you look older.

But Robert–sometimes Oppie–said the sweaters made you look kept. In fact, he said he liked them because he could see the curve of your “gorgeous, nymphet” figure. He said that to you as you sat on his knee while a hand slowly ran down the side of your hip and down onto your thigh, inches from the hem of your skirt.

Maybe they didn’t look old.

Hatomi had been used to these falls, which were usually for you. One Fall afternoon, your classes had finished, and you two wanted to study in a space outside the library and outdoors. The Hearst Mining Circle was the perfect place to do so. So you both grabbed your books and a blanket to sit on the grass and study, basking in the outdoors. Hatomi read one of her American History textbooks as you copied down equations from your Physics textbooks. The edge of the page had been crumpled previously from one of your sessions with Robert. He had snuck behind you, pressing small pecks from the side of your neck down as you explained the existence of Black Holes.

The sheer thought made you grab the side of your neck and nurse it. You turned to see Hatomi; her nose stuck in her textbook. Turning over, you watched people walk down the paved walkway, ranging from socializing students, faculty children, and busy teachers. Eyeing for a distraction, you scaled the walkway, and somehow, in looking for what you did not want to think about, you found Robert.

Robert stood outside the Physics building, smoking a cigarette, chatting and congregating with other science professors. As he chatted with his fellow science professors, his laughter resonated through the air like a melody, inviting those nearby to share in the camaraderie. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened when he laughed, adding a touch of charm to his rugged handsomeness. The wind blew away the bottom of his jacket, showing the white Oxford shirt that clung to his skin.

A cigarette dangled casually from his fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the air around him, adding an almost cinematic quality to the scene. The way he held the cigarette, an effortless gesture, enhanced his allure as if the act was imbued with intrigue. The tendrils of smoke danced around him, almost like an extension of his presence, creating an enigmatic halo that further piqued your fascination.

You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away, captivated by the sight of him. His hands moved gracefully as he spoke, emphasizing his words with subtle gestures that only added to the magnetism he emanated. The ruggedness of his appearance was balanced by a gentleness in his eyes, a combination that held your attention like a moth drawn to a flame. His handsome features, framed by the sunlight and the curls of smoke, seemed to encompass a world of intellect, charm, and mystery. It was a fleeting moment, an unguarded glimpse into his world, yet it left an indelible impression long after he had moved on.

“Y/n, this is what I’m talking about,” Hatomi explained as she plopped herself next to you, pointing to some page in her textbook. While you listened, you found it hard to tear your eyes off your handsome and regal professor.

“The Theory of Social Change says that everything and everyone, in different times, all fall into the same universe and repeat themselves within four cycles; The High", "The Awakening", "The Unraveling" and "The Crisis."

–

Since Hatomi told you about the Theory of Social Change, you began to ponder if you and Robert, with whatever you had, were prime examples of this.

Your cycle continued, and minus the newfound acknowledged mutual pining, nothing had changed. You went to his house, skimmed the idea of Physics if needed, ate dinner, and then kissed and cuddled until the late hours of the night. Most of your “meetings'' ended up finishing on Robert’s couch. Other than the multiple cigarette buds on the ashtray and empty martini glasses on the coffee table, you would end up entangled on top of Robert. His hands would rest on your back or hair, gently stroking both. Sometimes, he’d be smoking a cigarette; other times, he’d worship you like a goddess as he decorated your body in soft kisses.

These small instances of affection did not continue to go away. You enjoyed them just as much as Robert did. It took you time to adjust to seeing him outside of his house and inside of the academic setting. After he had kissed you, which was your first kiss ever, locking eyes with him was difficult—seeing him as just your Physics Professor instead of a poetic, lustful older man who confessed that he used the meetings to help you and get to know you more.

In a scene infused with an air of both familiarity and affection, Robert's voice carries across the room like a gentle melody, beckoning the reader with a tender summons.

"Sweetling," he murmurs, the endearment a whispered promise of comfort and connection. His arms unfold, a silent invitation that spans the distance between them, transforming the couch into a sanctuary of shared moments.

Your heart flutters at his call. A sense of intimacy envelops as you waltz over and ease into the space beside Robert, nestling against his side as if drawn by the irresistible force of his presence.

As they settle into the embrace of the couch, a soft sigh escapes the reader's lips, a sigh that resonates with the comfort of being in his proximity. Like a pair of puzzle pieces finding their perfect fit, your bodies mold together seamlessly. The warmth of his frame envelops her, an encompassing cocoon that soothes away the troubles of the world beyond.

A hand is extended, its touch a promise of connection that transcends the physical realm. Your fingers interlace with effortless synchrony, your hand finding its place upon Robert's chest. Beneath your palm, the rhythmic beat of his heart reverberates like a melody of shared emotions. His hand finds yours, enveloping it in a gentle squeeze—a wordless affirmation of your bond.

You can make out the sound of Tchaikovsky from Robert’s record player as his hand moves from your back to your stomach. His hand sneaks under your cardigan, drawing mindless shapes onto your stomach.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Robert questions.

You look up to see Robert is looking forward and not as you. Seeing this, you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“Nothing much besides sleeping. Why ask?”

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Robert's voice carries a weight of sincerity that resonates through the air. With a touch both firm and tender, his hand rests upon your stomach, the sensation of his touch causing a soft flutter within. The thin cotton of your shirt yields to the gentle pressure of his fingers, creating a sensation that dances between comfort and connection.

"I want to take you out to Sausalito," he declares, his words wrapped in a sincerity that leaves no room for doubt, “Go for lunch and then shop for you.”

The prospect he offers feels like an invitation into a world where his presence is a guiding star, a promise of shared experiences and cherished memories. As his words unfurl, a sense of belonging blossoms in the space between you.

The subtle shift in his touch carries a hint of possessiveness, a claim that evokes both a giggle and a flush of color across your cheeks. Your connection with him deepens, your heart dancing to a melody that only the two of you share. His pride, wrapped around his words like a velvet ribbon, tugs at the strings of your own emotions.

“Oppie,” A playful slap lands upon his arm, a mock protest to his proposition, “People will see you; they’ll see us. They will know.”

The underlying sentiment is clear - the world's gaze could fall upon the two of you, and the reality of being seen together in public sets your cheeks aflame with a delightful shyness. But in his presence, the hesitations and external considerations seem to hold less weight than the simple joy of being with him.

As you giggle and tease, his grip becomes a deliberate caress, his thumb tracing tender circles against your skin. The fabric of your shirt becomes a barrier that barely impedes the sensation of his touch, and the way he scrunches the fabric only seems to amplify the intimacy of the moment. His voice, a timbre laced with newfound intensity, murmurs, "I want you by my side. I want to show you, y/n."

The unspoken allure between you deepens as his desire becomes palpable. The words he utters hold a double meaning, a claim that encompasses both the invitation to accompany him and the electrifying spark that courses between you. His possessive undertone, magnetic and primal, sends a thrill down your spine, igniting a fire that flares within the confines of your connection.

The blush on your cheeks takes on a new hue, a mixture of shyness and the intoxicating realization that you're affecting him in this very moment. You feel his gaze upon you, an ardent flame that strips away pretenses and bares your vulnerabilities. The sensation of his fingers against your skin becomes an echo of a deeper connection, a touch that ignites a firestorm of desire in both of you.

"Oppie," you cooed, this time with a subtle hint of breathlessness. His name, a whispered plea, seems to fan the flames of his desire. The weight of his possessiveness, interwoven with the age gap and a burgeoning passion, adds a layer of complexity to the bond you share. The unapologetic way he wants you, the unfiltered truth behind his words, sends a jolt of heat through your veins.

Robert bends his head to catch your lips as he begins to suck at them passionately. A noise escapes as his lips engulf yours. His hand travels down your stomach and stops at the end of your shirt. His lean fingers crawl under your skirt and up to your lower waist, where his cool fingers touch the soft stomach of your skin. Much to your dismay, a soft moan escapes your mouth. Robert hums to himself as he tastes you, his hand slowly caressing your hip. His hands are cold, yet warmth feeds onto your skin.

His hand progressively moves up and now rests under your boob. His thumb draws circles, edging towards the line under your bra. No man had ever gotten this close, let alone touched you like this. Robert was the first and only to do so. His touch was gentle and possessive, and as much as he pleased you, it was all too much at once. Everything began to overwhelm you; Robert, the age difference, the power dynamic, and its imbalance all hit like a train.

“Robert,” You cried as your legs uncomfortably shifted.

Immediately, he removed his hand from under your skirt. You crawled away from his side and breathed heavily, running a hand through your hair. Your legs began to shake, and you could somewhat contain the sudden rush of anxiety.

“Y/n?” Robert called your name, worry evident in his voice. He dared not move over, but he held out his hand, “Sweetling, did I hurt you?”

As he rubbed his temples, he stumbled on his words, “Forgive me, please. I lost myself there. I forgot that you are less experienced than I am.”

Your arms wrap around your body as you look at Robert, who looks like a wounded animal. The thought of hurting you devastated Robert, and it was evident in his body language.

“Robert, I’m okay,” You assure him as you stand with your arms still wrapped around you. At a loss for words, you shake your head and head to the kitchen to gather your coat and bag.

“I’m just rather tired. It’s been a long week. I can assure you it’s nothing with you. I’ve just been,” As you put your coat on and grab your bag to exit the kitchen, you see Robert standing in the doorway. He stares at you as his hands smoothen down the material on his pants. His eyebrows are scrunched together, and he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, not knowing if it’s the right thing to say or do.

“Conflicted. That’s all.”

You fastly walk by him, brushing against his side. He turns to watch you walk to the doors. Just as your hand grabs the knob, Robert speaks.

“Sausalito. Not San Francisco or Berkeley, Sausalito. I’ll take you there tomorrow in the morning. We can spend the morning there if you wish to be seen with me.”

While your hand remains on the knob, you look back at Robert, sinking into your coat collar to hide your blush.

“I do wish to be seen with you. I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Oppie.”

“Goodnight, sweetling.”

–

That very next morning, Oppie keeps to his promise. You arrive at his house, and he’s in his Cadillac, awaiting your arrival. You smile and climb in, greeted by a peck to the cheek. Oppenheimer’s smoking another cigarette, and while he looks happy to see you, he still seems bothered by last night. You tell him to forget about it, but he shakes his head, saying he should know better.

He brings this up again as you finish driving over the Richmond Bridge, close to Sausalito.

“A man my age, especially with someone as young as you, should know to control himself,” Robert muttered, keeping his eyes on the road, “But since you’re so, well, beautiful, I just..”

“Robert, I insist it’s no issue-”

“But it was. You yelped. I never wish to see you afraid of me, y/n.”

“I yelped because I was shocked, that is all.”

“You wanted me to stop, but I didn’t,” He admitted, “I was not thinking with my head, y/n.”

Although he didn’t explicitly state the phrase after, it was enough for you to piece it together. Robert knew how inexperienced you were. Just a month ago, you had your first kiss with a man a little over a decade older than you, who so lovingly happened to be your Physics professor. Your mind replayed the events of last night. You had enjoyed his touch, but it was too much at once. While Robert was gentle, he moved too fast for you, and you didn’t have the courage to say it to him. The last thing you wanted to do was make Robert angry at you, and as much as you wanted to say this, you didn’t know if it was the right time, let alone how to phrase it.

Last night, you lay in bed, running a hand under your shirt, pretending it was Robert’s hand. The imagination was a powerful force but could only do so much.

As Robert parked the car, you sighed and looked forward, fidgeting with your hands.

“I understand, Robert. But let me say that, honestly, I enjoyed your touch. It was a lot, but it brought me pleasure, and–” You quickly find a way to say what you want, “--I do want to explore this later. But for now, I want to put this behind us. You said you wanted to dine and shop for me, which I would love to do now. Can we do that, please?”

Robert looked over with a conflicted look. He looked takeback, trying to hide a smile of pleasure, relief, and joy. There was a hint of lust in his eyes as well. But after all, that was for later.

“Thank you for that, y/n. And yes, we can,” Robert said with relief.

Robert opened the car door and helped you out of the Cadillac, his touch lingering longer than it usually did.

After you two got lunch at a restaurant that Robert said his friend recommended, some French Cafe on the water, he asked if you had certain stores you wanted to go to. You shrugged your shoulders, saying you were more than happy to follow him where he took you.

The two of you walked close side by side. In the crowd of ongoing bypassers, questions raced within your mind. What if someone knew you were from Berkeley, seeing you waltz along with your professor? Robert looked much older than you, and you barely looked like an adult. Older men had always been a fantasy of yours, but when that was turned into a reality, it was both a curse and a blessing. All of the issues that you had to avoid in your fantasy, you were forced to confront in real life. Hopefully, not soon or ever.

Robert reached to grab your hand and held it close, bringing you slightly closer to him.

“Settle down,” Robert squeezed your hand, “No one knows but you and me.”

You gulped and contained a sigh as you leaned into Robert. Looking for a distraction, you looked at some of the store windows. Some of the stuff was too bright or expensive, but you did catch a beautiful black purse. It was a Chanel Black leather crossbody with a simple, elegant golden chain. You had seen some of the girls at Berkeley with them. For what reason they needed it, you did not know, but you simply admired it. You made a note to ask for your parents for Christmas.

Robert saw you eye-shopping and stopped in his tracks. He leaned down to whisper in your ear if you wanted that purse. You shook your head, saying your purse was perfectly fine, ignoring that you had complained to him a week ago that your books were breaking the bottom of your bag.

Robert ignored you and bought the purse, despite your pleas for him not to.

“Thank you,” You politely grumble, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You can hide how red your cheeks are from him, “Robert, I did not need that. You know what.”

“I do know that you did need a new bag,” Robert pointed out. He smiled to himself, a small boost to his ego, “It made you smile. I should also find you a new outfit to match the bag. Something elegant and dark.”

“Where would I be carrying that expensive bag? To class?”

“To events with me, along with the expensive clothes and perfumes I plan to decorate you in,” Robert cooed to you, “Fine things for a fine girl.”

You blushed and leaned into his shoulder, sighing and shaking your head. “Well, I suppose I should look down so you don’t buy me anything else.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work, dear. You have a tendency to blush at the slightest of things.”

At that moment, you couldn’t tell if you wanted to smack or kiss Robert in his stupidly, hauntingly handsome face.

After some more shopping, Robert dropped you off at a bookstore. He said he needed to run a quick errand but told you to pick out whatever you wanted from the store. He said he would be back and pick out some books for you and, if you wish, to pick one for him. With a kiss on your head, he promised not to be gone for long, his hand lingering on the side of your arm.

You had been trying to get Robert into Greek mythology for the longest time. He introduced you to Hinduism through the Bhagavad Gita. He could talk about it for hours on end as he felt you. Feeling the need to return the favor, all while being held by Robert, you picked out a few of your favorite classics; Prometheus and Athena, Cupid and Psyche, and Hades and Persephone. There were plenty more you could have chosen, a part of you knowing Robert would buy every book you wanted.

Just as you tried to reach for one, a hand behind you reached for it and grabbed it. You looked behind and saw Oppenheimer examine the cover of the book.

“The Odyssey,” Robert read out the cover and turned the book, “Have you read it?”

“Twice. Once in school, and once with my father,” You replied, watching Robert open the book. As he skimmed, you leaned on his arm to read along in the book. Robert took notice and subtly leaned into you, “I think you’d like it.”

“If you like it, I’ll love it.”

You hummed and smiled to yourself, looking down at the pink bag Robert held. Quirking an eyebrow, you asked, “What exactly did you buy me?”

“You’ll see once we get home,” Robert promised, his hand finding the way to the small of your back. He pulled you close to his side. You looked up at him and smiled at his sheepish grin, which hid something devilish.

“Before you get to enjoy your gift, let me buy your books and the Iliad.”

“And then what?”

Robert’s hand rests on your hips as he brings his lips to your ear, slightly lighting you up to whisper into your ear.

“And then we can enjoy.”

#carrie writes #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #j robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer #robert j oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer x reader

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mydaddywiki · 1 year ago

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F. Lee Bailey

Physique: Husky Build Height: 5’ 6½" (1.69 m)

Francis Lee Bailey Jr. (June 10, 1933 – June 3, 2021), better known to the general public as F. Lee Bailey, was an American criminal defense attorney best known as a member of the “Dream Team” representing former football O.J. Simpson in his 1995 murder trial. Bailey's name first came to nationwide attention for his involvement in the second murder trial of Sam Sheppard, a surgeon accused of murdering his wife. He later served as the attorney in a number of other high-profile cases, such as Albert DeSalvo, a suspect in the "Boston Strangler" murders, heiress Patty Hearst's trial for bank robberies committed during her involvement with the Symbionese Liberation Army, and US Army Captain Ernest Medina for the My Lai Massacre. He is considered one of the greatest lawyers of the 20th century.

A stocky badger-like man with a cleft chin, intimidating blue eyes and a widow’s peak that refused to recede with the rest of his hairline. He was one of the best things I got from the 1995 O.J. Simpson trial. He was a riveting courtroom performer and I couldn’t keep my eyes of him back then.

Bailey was married four times. He had two sons from his first marriage and another son from his second marriage. Apparently, late in life, Bailey fell on hard times being broke and working as a consultant above the hair salon of his girlfriend. Well, if he wanted too make money, he could have done porn. What? I know plenty of people who’d buy a DVD or subscription to a porn site if F. Lee was starring in it. Facts.

After a period of ill health, he died under hospice care in Atlanta on June 3, 2021, aged 87.

#F. Lee Bailey

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fromthedust · 1 year ago

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Adolf M. Hopfmuller (German/American 1876-1971)

Adolf M. Hopfmuller - selected covers from SHADOWLAND magazine - 1919—1923

When publisher Eugene V. Brewster launched his third magazine SHADOWLAND in 1919, it was obvious this was something quite different. Billed as the “Handsomest Magazine in the World”, SHADOWLAND was most definitely an ARTS magazine, not just a movie fan magazine. Literary, theatrical, visual and fine arts, interior and set design, and yes, movies, and much more from the world of art, were all showcased inside SHADOWLAND. SHADOWLAND was retired in November 1923 and blended into the Brewster Publications sister magazine, Motion Picture Classic. A.M. Hopfmuller continued as the Art Director of Brewster Publications (Classic and Motion Picture Magazines) until he left the company in early 1926 at the age 51. Although he may have retired from Brewster Publications, A.M. Hopfmuller never retired from painting. He went on to work for another publishing mogul, William Randolph Hearst, on magazines such as Smart Set and McClures, and was named the Art Editor of Harper’s Bazaar in 1927. His creative interests and abilities weren’t limited to painting. Hopfmuller worked with wood, hand-carving picture frames, building rustic garden furniture, and carved bookcases.

“He enjoyed building models of sailing ships for his grandchildren to sail/race in a local park (we still have one). And he designed and maintained a beautiful garden on his property adjoining his house.” – Ruth Hamann (Hopfmuller’s grand-daughter-in-law)

more about his life:

www.50plusworld.com/shadowlands-art-deco-artist-a-m-hopfmuller/

#art by others #other's artwork #painting #illustration #Adolf M. Hopfmuller

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riding-palominos-every-day · 1 year ago

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JoJo's nightly prayer was usually a comforting sound to Elmer. He may not be religious himself, but the soft murmur of his best friend's voice as he prayed lulled him to sleep most nights.

Not tonight, though. Tonight the sound distressed him.

Jack wasn't on the roof, even he had enough sense to sleep inside when it was cold. So Elmer slipped down from his bunk and crept over to the window, scuttling up the ladder. He wasn't allowed on the roof without one of the older boys, according to Jack, but right now Elmer didn't care what Jack did or didn't allow.

"Um... hullo, God. Or Jesus. Whichever of you are listening." He didn't kneel, or clasp his hands, but he did lift his head to stare up at the big white moon, faintly through the wispy clouds.

"I know JoJo's praying at the moment, and you should listen to him, but I hope one'a you can listen to me." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Romeo's dad came by again today. He scares me- not as much as he scares Romeo, 'course. Mush scared him off 'fore Kloppman even got to the door though. An' Sniper's dad came by yesterday. I dunno why Sniper keeps going home when he hurts him like that. That's what I wanted to ask you; why d'you let people hurt other people?"

A particularly sharp gust of wind bit at his bare arms. JoJo would probably say it was a Sign, that he was asking questions he shouldn't, but Elmer was tired of the questions building up inside him.

"Why- why did you let Mr. Wiesel an' the Delanceys and the police hurt us during the strike? Why did you let Mr. Pulitzer and Hearst raise their prices, when you must know how we live?" His voice was trembling now, increasing in volume unintentionally, "Why'd JoJo get sent on a ship here alone over a war that never even happened- n-not that I'm not happy he's here, but he doesn't know how to find his parents! Half my friends can't be with their family for one reason or 'nother, an' the other half are terrified of them! Why d'you let that happen? Why did you let my mama send me away? I don't know what I did wrong!"

Elmer was shouting now, his cheeks damp and vision blurred with tears. He didn't even realise. Someone was speaking to him, although he couldn't make out what they were saying. He felt warm, safe arms suddenly wrap around him, pulling him close against someone's chest and turning his face away from the moon.

The moon gave no answer to his questions, and neither did anyone else.

#having. a lot of feelings tonight #Elmer is a vessel to process it #newsies #newsies fanfic #elmer newsies

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salemshotspot · 7 months ago

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Hunter Hearst Helmsley Gender Headcanons

WORD COUNT: 985

DESC: Headcanons of Hunter and his gender identity/exploration

WARNINGS: Not Proof Read//Someone Who Knows Nothing About Makeup Writing About Makeup Hoping They Aren't Chatting Rubbish//Mentions Taking Hormones//Tiny Bit Sad At Times If You Squint//Implied Toxic Masculinity//Discusses Complex Gender Feelings//Implied Internalised Homophobia If You Squint//Mentions Of Drinking And Being Drunk

A/N >> Drop writing requests in my inbox and let me know if you'd like to be tagged or untagged in any future fics :)

TAGS: @incorrectwwfquotes @prettyboymichaels-ao3 [apologies you got this notification twice, I was trying to fix a spelling mistake and accidently deleted your @!]

Enjoy!

——————————————————————————

So I feel like Hunter first consciously began questioning his gender when he got close with Shawn; to me Shawn seems the type to call Hunter pretty as an absent minded compliment but to Hunter it was so much more, he couldn't stop Shawn's words rattling around his mind for weeks, being called pretty really started making him question things about himself.

However, although it took Shawn calling him pretty to make him start questioning things I feel like subconsciously he'd been questioning his gender ever since he debuted his wrestling persona of 'Hunter Hearst Helmsley.'

I feel like he took so easily to that persona is because, to him, being an upper-class gentleman was the only way he could be pretty while maintaining his masculinity as he could say anything effeminate about him was merely part of his character.

Wearing a bit of makeup? It's not because he likes it, it's because he's committed to appearing as elegant as he can to fit his character, he's wearing stereotypically more feminine clothes? It's only because it makes him appear elegant in his lace shirts and silk jackets.

He was secretly really upset once he put that character behind him and became 'Triple H' because not only does he have to play a much more stereotypically manly character but he has nothing to hide his less masculine traits behind.

He was probably jealous of Shawn for so long, he was able to be so flamboyant, so sexually ambiguous, he was able to be whatever he wanted and everybody still viewed him as a standard of masculinity; why couldn't Hunter be extended this privilege, why was he burdened with the curse of hegemonic masculinity? Once his jealously towards Shawn shifted to longing, longing to have the freedom he had, to not care what people think like he did I think he'd get really drunk with Shawn one night and accidently tell him everything, the way he feels, the way he perceives himself as a man and is happy with that but he wishes when people perceive him it would be as both a woman and a man.

Not to self insert but I feel like, like myself, he perfectly understands how he feels about his gender but he can't put words to it, he can't put a label on it, nothing feels right when he tries using a label, he uses a fluid label? He feels he's betraying the binary, set in stone aspects of his gender, he uses a binary label? He's reducing himself down to something that doesn't encompass him truly.

Shawn is indifferent to this information in the sense of 'I don't view you any differently, you were my best friend before you told me this and you'll stay my best friend after you've told me.'

Although Shawn is indifferent to the information he makes a conscious effort to try and help Hunter express himself at his own pace and the first way they did this was with makeup; Shawn owns a lot of subtle makeup, he loves to look his best and doesn't see why makeup should be just for women when it's such a life saver.

This is oddly specific but to build on this idea I feel like when Shawn did Hunter's makeup for the first time so he could see how it feels Hunter was absolutely mesmerised by the blush on his cheeks and would end up not going anywhere without having a bit of light pink blush dusted over his cheeks and nose.

I feel like he takes really good care of his lips, like always using vaseline to make sure they're never dry and always look healthy but give this man glittery lip gloss and he will fall in love and use it all the time, bonus points if the glitter is silver.

I do not think he would be completely against the idea of taking oestrogen, he's probably like to take low doses of it if he ever fully committed to HRT, however he is overall indifferent to it; if he never took hormones he wouldn't feel incomplete within his own gender, it could just be a nice little bonus to him if he ever felt he really wanted to.

I do however feel like although he is exploring his more feminine side he wouldn't wear dresses, he just doesn't feel they're his thing [although can I say if they were he would rock a red floor length dress that hugged his curves just right], but when he went to formal events he'd experiment wearing less typically male formal attire [like a ruffled red dress shirt instead of a white one, it's a subtle change but he feels great when he does it.]

Speaking of formal fashion I feel like another thing he'd experiment with is shoes, he feels like wedged shoes are a good middle ground between the black formal shoes men and heels.

Probably heals his past self by allowing himself to indulge in socially accepted feminine acts like for example I feel like he loves baking, he baked with his mum growing up but he was made fun of because it's 'a woman's thing.'

Pronouns wise he says he doesn't care if people use either he, she or they but sometimes when he hears people use she/her he's like a giddy little kid.

Just reiterating how much he loves to be called pretty.

I also feel like being secure in his gender helps him become secure within his sexuality [I personally see him as bisexual]; before he'd be so flustered and paranoid if he did anything that he thought felt gay in public, what if somebody saw?, But since feeling more comfortable with his gender he proudly kisses Shawn live on Raw without giving it so much as a second thought because it's just a show of affection between him and his friend.

——————��———————————————————

A/N >> I'm aware this turned into headcanons for Shawn too, I might do Shawn his own headcanon list if anyone is interested! There's a few wwf wrestlers I want to do these headcanons for

#wwe #wwf #90s wwf #triple h #hunter hearst helmsley #shawnter #shawn michaels #hbk #heartbreakkid #heart break kid #heartbreak kid #dx #d generation x #salemshxtfics

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years ago

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William Randolph Hearst founded the Hearst Corporation on March 4, 1887.

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hssprimefan · 2 months ago

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Speaking of Sakura, there’s something about her that feels very grounded to me in a way some of the other loners don’t.

Like I don’t think she intentionally isolated herself from people, but she didn’t get the “point” of chit-chat or gossip, and the other kids didn’t get her either.

The gamers she spends most of her time with aren’t going to treat her well, especially if she’s doesn’t hide her gender. But she understands them. There are clear goals. Clear wins. Victory. Get good. You can get so good they can’t ignore you.

It’s very simple if you know the rules. And she might question what she does and how, but she doesn’t have to question why.

So she didn’t put much effort in with kids in middle school. She never learned how to deal with the drama. Never saw herself is someone else’s overreaction. Never learned she was dramatic too.

Then Hearst reenforced every bad habit and cynical belief she had. The world really is just a leaderboard. So min max your build for success.

Idk if this idea rubbed off on Nishan, or they already shared it, but she definitely believed it much deeper than he did.

Berry changes things, but it doesn’t fix everything. She continues to feel like someone catching up at her friendship. And that feels important to me.

#she is frustrating #as she should be #high school story #hss prime #hss sakura #my analysis here still feels incomplete #but I’m posting anyway #maybe discusion will help me figure it out #someone who didn’t have many friends acting like someone who didn’t have friends

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ill-say-anything-i-hafta · 2 months ago

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Rocky Horror Picture Show Newsies AU

Hi, I realized today that all the characters from newsies have to be in a production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and literally came out of retirement to write this down. Here’s the deal.

This is a college production with a shadow cast: shows are the last two weekends before Christmas break. Jack and Katharine are seniors and have been involved since they were freshmen. This time, they are reprising their roles as Brad and Janet, but their friend Medda, who always played Frank-N-Furter, just graduated and won’t be in the production this year.

Sarah is Magenta. Her brother David is only a sophomore and a rocky horror virgin (and the other kind too; in fact, he has never been kissed.) He decided it would be fun to try out for the criminologist, but he got cast as Frank instead, much to everyone’s surprise. He was horrified at first and thought about refusing the role, but ended up getting really into it. In his platform heels, he is about 7 feet tall and he looks amazing in lipstick and rubber gloves!

Racetrack plays Columbia and Spot plays Eddie. (Race is a trans guy and Spot is a cis girl; it is deliberately gender-bent casting.) Morris Delancey plays Riff Raff. He and Sarah really don’t like each other, which gives all their scenes together a special frisson. He doesn’t know any of his lines (true, he doesn’t have to say them, he just mouths them along with the actors on screen, but still!) and keeps messing up his cues, which offends Sarah’s sensibilities. His brother Oscar thinks the whole thing is stupid, but has been putting in lots of hours helping Morris practice.

You might think Crutchie would be stuck being the Crim because of the wheelchair, but no! He is Rocky. He performs totally naked except for a little gold loincloth. Elmer, who is in charge of props, helped Crutchie paint his crutches gold using paint they thought was water soluble. Turns out it is permanent, oops. Finch is the one who ended up being the Crim, which really suits his personality. He was set on the idea of having a fake mustache, even though the Crim doesn’t even have a mustache in the film. Elmer was like, sure, whatever, go nuts.

Buttons is doing costumes. He loaned Spot a leather jacket with shoulder pads from his personal wardrobe, which he will definitely never see again after the show wraps.

Darcy is the director; she is a theater major and is way too serious about everything. The cast tends to just ignore her, like Charlie Brown directing the pageant in “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” Seitz does tech for the show. Specs is that guy who says he has stage fight, but he sits in the front row at every rehearsal and performance and yells at all the callbacks, even the really weird ones that refer to things that none of them have ever heard of. (I might do a part two of this post which is all of Specs’ favorite callbacks, which of course is really just my favorite callbacks.)

Albert sells little prop bags of playing cards and party hats and toast at the door. They are also the one who asks attendees if they have seen Ricky Horror before. If anyone says no, Albert marks that person’s forehead with a red v of lipstick and later, they pull all the virgins up on stage during the preshow for public embarrassment. They are way too into this task. The preshow consists of Romeo and Jojo in wigs and teddies and fishnets, dancing to the original Eartha Kitt “Santa Baby,” mugging and shaking their hips and pushing each other violently off of Santa’s lap. Bill Hearst plays Santa.

Jack and Katherine have been dating for years, by the way, but Katherine has a crush on Darcy and maybe also on Oscar Delancey. Jack is ostensibly straight, but he and Crutchie made out once on the roof of the Life Sciences building after pulling an all-nighter. And Jack really, really likes David. Really likes him. Yeah.

Tommy Boy and Hannah and Henry and Mush and anyone elseI forgot are all Transylvanians. Practically the whole cast were already friends with each other except for David, like I said, and Spot, who showed up to the auditions out of nowhere and has an amazing alto and scares the shit out of everyone. She is the star forward on their school’s winning soccer team. Spot didn’t tell her teammates she was doing the show. She keeps missing practice to go to rehearsal or missing rehearsal to go to practice. Race, who always thought he was 100% gay, is fascinated by her.

Weisel is the head of the campus Buildings and Grounds department. He keeps accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to unlock the classroom where they rehearse. And Joe Pulitzer is the assistant dean who tells them they are not allowed to throw toast or other food at the screen in the auditorium because it could attract vermin.

What will happen when he tries to shut down the show? What will happen when the girls from the soccer team follow Spot to the dress rehearsal? What will happen when David is struck by debilitating stage fright, right before the curtain goes up on opening night? Who will make out at the off-campus cast party????

#bonnie's newsies aus #newsies #jack kelly #katherine pulitzer #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #newsies ensemble #rocky horror picture show #rhps #Rocky horror au #newsies au #modern au #david jacobs #crutchie morris #Jatherid #spot is a girl

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gonetoforks · 7 months ago

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A bit of a hot take; I hope if Frida gets introduced properly with an official name, it will be something other than Frida?

(omg this rant became so long please read it tho i’m going insane)

I hope so because I feel like it would characterize her life (assumably) being raised by Big Mama a bit more, since her design tastes as we see through her hotel’s decor leans a lot towards old money art deco motifs combined with gothic architecture. I feel like Frida Kahlo’s primitivism and surrealism would be a bit out of character? Or at least a missed opportunity for some characterization.

(Okay maybe it’s not quite gothic but idc, let me speak-)

See here all the difference between Big Mama’s taste and Frida Kahlo’s paintings, I’m not saying she wouldn’t like her work, I just think that if Big Mama designs all her estates with such a clear creative vision & what seems to be her own personal tastes (*cough cough* old money ass fashion sense *cough cough*) I feel like she’d be more knowledgeable and/or more partial to a different area of the art world for Kahlo to be enough of her favorite to name her personal assistant/maybe I hope surrogate daughter after her?

I like to think if Big Mama named her after some artists she personally liked, I think she might lean more towards artists from the art deco scene like Tamara de Lempicka, or Sonia Delaunay.

Or maybe gothic architects could give her a name truer to the hidden city and battle nexus architecture that she’d’ve been surrounded by her whole life. All those gargoyles and sprawling jagged designs once you push past the illusion of Big Mama’s normal hotel front make such a dichotomy! Julia Morgan (the lady who designed California’s Hearst Castle which, “mixes Spanish Colonial, Gothic, Neo-Classical and Mediterranean Revival style all in one property.” I think that would be such a good combination of styles to reference with Big Mama’s choice on what to name this person omg) and Odile Decq are such pretty names!!

I love Odile Decq’s personal style and work on one particular building sm, the Phantom Restaurant of the Garnier Opera.

LIKE OMG THAT JUST SCREEAAAMMMS BIG MAMA, she would absolutely name a girl after the lady who’d design that and you cannot convince me otherwise. And Odile would fit in with “Michelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael” so well omg. And look at this woman, look at her style, she NEEDS a ninja turtle named after her omg.

And finally, a bit controversial but I never really liked the name Frida in the first place?

Don’t get me wrong, her work is legendarily meaningful and skillful. It’s just that in recent years, she’s been packaged and sold as this “girlboss feminist icon” because of her suffering, and because of that, her image in pop culture has kind of been watered down to the point where it feels like if they were to name her Frida, i’d think like, all the thought that went into it would be, “okay she’s a girl, what girl painters do we know?” Which (although well intentioned-) kinda feels like reverting back to stereotyping her as “the girl one” even though that’s what they were trying to avoid by not naming her Venus? If that makes sense? So I’m glad her name isn’t concrete yet lol.

And OMG I WANT HER NAME TO BE ODILE SO BAD NOW YOU DONT EVEN KNOW💖✨💝‼️✨ I only found her work literally as I was typing this but I just love that building and how much Big Mama would absolutely love that building, she needs to be named Odile, look at her face, that’s an Odile face <3

Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, and Odile, (and maybe Kirby? :D) i love itt

#tmnt #tmnt 40th anniversary #rottmnt #rottmnt frida #disscussion #rottmnt lost sister #the app lost almost all of what i wrote when i was literally almost done it nearly killed me #rottmnt textposting #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 5th turtle #aaaaaaaaaaaa

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fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 4 of Revenge Can Hurt More Than the Person It's Aimed at (An Angsty Nygmobblepot x Reader Hurt/Comfort Fix-it Fic)

<-previous chapter

Chapter 4: Not Completely Heartless Plans and the Lack of a Corpse

Additional warnings for this chapter: Ed thinking about the possibility of Oswald killing the reader (he doesn't seriously think Oswald would harm you), mention of canonical alcohol problems (Oswald), self-deprecating thoughts (by Oswald)

Word count: 2784

Author's note: After me being busy and then ill, the new chapter's finally finished. Enter Barbara Kean & Tabitha Galavan 🤗

Thanks go to @gabriella-aesthetic for commenting on the last chapter & making me do the finishing touches on this one sooner. I hope you enjoy this chapter ❤

Wow, a cover for this chapter too? Yes!

_________________

Ed's eyes were fixed on the entrance to Gotham City Hall. Oswald still hadn't stormed out of the building like he'd imagined.

Ed looked away to Mr. Van Dahl's remains as well as Oswald's dead chief of staff in the trunk of the car, then turned to the shapeshifter he had met in Indian Hill, "A very good job."

Basil Karlo, aka Clayface, took off his contacts and removed his wig. "He bought it."

Ed smirked. "Hook, line and sinker."

"The voice wasn't quite right but, uh, you know." He heard stilettos on the paving stone and stepped back.

"Bravo, boys." Barbara Kean approached them with Tabitha Galavan close behind. "Penguin lost his mind on national TV. Just like you said he would."

"It's all about the power of suggestion." Ed was proud of his knowledge about the mayor. "And whispering in the right ears."

Tabitha wasn't as impressed, "Why don't you just leave these bodies for the cops? Have him arrested."

"That's too easy, Tabitha." He had much better plans, "I want this to be a slow, painful death. One of a thousand deep cuts. First we take away his mind-

Barbara interruped him, "Then - the part I like - we destroy his empire and take it for ourselves."

"And then when this bird is broken and alone, we do the humane thing...and put him out of his misery."

The blonde heiress pouted playfully, then giggled, and Ed smiled with her. He had this planned out to the-

"Why hasn't he left the building yet?"

Ed suppressed a glare at Tabitha.

"I don't know," he responded, folding his phone open to dial one of the contacts he still had from being Oswald's chief of staff. "Perhaps it's because-"

Two (2) messages from y/f/n y/l/n.

Oswald really needs me. He hasn't been feeling well since you left. I hope we can talk about it.

Reading your message made Ed ask himself whether his plan was really as fool-proof as he'd assumed it was. "He's late because he wasn't alone", he explained, then continued reading, Hopefully you don't think I'm ditching you for Oswald. I just had to be there for him, this day is extremely important.

He has an interview with Margaret Hearst, can you believe that?

Of course you'd support your friend when he had an interview with a star journalist. A star journalist Ed had secretely nudged towards Oswald.

"Ed?"

He didn't listen, being too focused on your texts:

I hope we can still meet :) When do you have time to spare? Just a quick heads-up: I don't know how the interview will go and if it doesn't Oswald, might need someone to be there for him, and well, we know how much trust he puts in other people, right xD?

Despite the guilt he felt at you worrying about Oswald, your words almost placated him, making him smile ever so slightly and feel transported to when you had all been friends, to that evening when Oswald had laughed so hard that-

"Hello?" Earth to Ed."

Barbara. Barbara was waving her hand in front of his face.

"Are you lost? What did you find out?"

"Y/n", he said, "y/n accompanied Oswald. It must be the reason why he's so late."

"Y/n got in the way, huh?" Barbara stalked towards the brown-haired man and began to circle him. "Do you want us to do something about that?" She halted in front oh him, "A little kidnapping maybe?"

Ed tensed, more than he had when talking about his plans for revenge. "No!" It came out aggressive, as if they were on opposite sides but he didn't care. "No one must hurt y/n!"

Barbara held up her manicured hands in a conciliatory way, "Okay! Geez, Ed, it's alright. Your friend's safe from us. Right, Tabby?"

"Yeah."

"Make sure that Butch, no, everyone, knows not to harm y/n."

Tabitha's scoff was overshadowed by Barbara's confident smile. "Consider it done. As long as your friend doesn't interfere, she thought.

Tabitha stepped towards them, "So you are friends?"

"Of course!" Ed said full of indignation.

She looked to Barbara and raised an eyebrow before he gained her attention back with his irritated tone, "Why wouldn't we be? What are you alluding to?"

After a nod from Barbara, the long-haired woman looked Ed straight in the face and asked, "I mean don't you feel guilty for letting your friend worry about Penguin's misery?"

Ed was taken aback. Of course he did.

"I..."

How could he be at a loss for words after boasting about his schemes seconds ago?

The voice inside his head answered promptly, Easy: You're not as heartless as you pretend to be. Don't lose sight of who you love, Eddie.

While Barbara and Tabitha looked at him expectantly, he gave a quick response, That's what I'm doing! Focusing on Oswald and on y/n! We texted quite often over the past weeks.

"Ed?"

"Yes!" He straightened his jacket, "What is it?"

Barbara patted his arm, "I think you're doing great!" She gave Tabitha a subtle look indicating that she knew he wasn't, "Look at you, protecting your friend from someone as dangerous and selfish as Oswald."

Hearing her put it like that...Perhaps he was protecting you from Oswald. The thought hadn't crossed his mind. While Ed believed that Oswald would never harm you, he hadn't suspected him to be Isabella's murderer either.

The thought of Oswald killing you seemed ridiculous but that didn't mean that Barbara's words had no impact.

He had loved Isabella and he loved you, at least as much as-at least a lot.

What if things had been different and Oswald had been jealous of you?

Ed pictured the scene: your lifeless body in the GCPD, a car accident report, Oswald telling him to move on when he was still mourning!

"You still with us, Ed? Cause you shouldn't-"

His telephone rang. 'Oswald Cobblepot'. "Speaking of the devil, who seems to have called...eight times, wow" he was glad to see they were now looking at him as if he was capable despite the zoning out, "he can suffer for a little longer." He clapped the device shut. "You were saying?"

Barbara was pleased that Ed was ignoring the probably miserable mayor, "I was saying...that you needn't feel bad about getting your revenge on Penguin. Just continue doing what you're doing and our plans will be a piece of cake." She laughed.

_________________

Oswald was anything but laughing. He stood on shaky legs, panting from walking quickly after finally...well, not getting rid of you but assuring you he'd be fine. Oh god, had he made you worry too much? He hoped not.

He looked back as if you might appear at any moment, then moved back to the door. It was best that you didn't disturb him. If his father's skeleton wasn't real, he'd look insane. He closed the door and locked it. Even if his father's remains were in the same place: you didn't need to see a corpse, beleagured enough as you already were.

He hadn't meant to alarm you. You suspected that he had harmed himself, for God's sake! Oswald limped to the place where he had last seen his father's body, determined to wash away the blood and show you how alright he was. At least physically...

The disheveled mayor opened the office cupboard and gasped in shock. It was empty and what was worse, the traces to Elijah's presence were gone.

"No!" Oswald clutched a hand in front of his mouth. "No no no no no, please don't let this be...please let it have been real... I need you, father! I need your advice. Come back to me!"

He closed the cupboard and looked around the room. Not a single trace of his father. Had he vanished...or never been there to begin with, a hallucination? Oswald was sleep-deprived.

Ed! Oswald was spurred into action. He pulled out his phone and called his number.

Ring.

Ri-

"This is Edward."

It normally didn't take this short for the voice message to start. Ed had declined the call.

"Leave a message. Or don't."

Right. There was the audible reminder of the sadness Oswald had caused the man he loved.

"Doesn't really matter."

Oswald rubbed his temples.

Perhaps Ed was busy. Or still not over it. Over receiving a love confession after making one of the oddest business proposals Oswald had ever witnessed. It was almost as if - he steadied himself on a table... It was a level of dumbness almost completely uncharacteristic for Ed.

Oswald took shaky breaths. Coming to rash conclusions wouldn't serve him well. He needed to approach this calmly, at least as calmly as he could.

He breathed in and made sure to let out enough air as well, as Ed has taught him. Taught me with a hand on my stomach to show my where best to breathe from, he thought puzzled, then remembered that the brown-haired man had done the same with you.

Suddenly Oswald had a thought. Could it be that Ed was in love with you both, that this was his reason for distancing himself from him? It would make sense, wouldn't it: Ed, still grieving Isabella, wouldn't want to confirm being in love with Oswald if it meant making you think he didn't like you, but he wouldn't want to confess to you either in fear of losing his other best friend.

Oswald knew the feeling. Right now he wished he had never said the words to Ed. He would to anything to have him back, even if as nothing more than a friend.

Thinking back brought Oswald's mood further down. Ed had been so shocked, his body averted from Oswald's as if the mere idea of the black-haired man as someone worth having romantic interest in displeased him.

Oh, Oswald wished to have him back, to prove that his affection was nothing to be afraid of, that Ed had no reason to tense up and shield himself.

Oswald would keep his feelings to himself. He could do that, yes, he'd let Ed dictate how close they got, so that things could go back to how they'd been.

Now if he could just solve the mystery of his father!

For a moment he considered calling Ed again, then he debated texting him and gave up on that as well. What would he even write? 'Hey, Ed, first of all: don't be afraid, I'm no danger to you. I know you haven't wanted to hear from me for weeks, but I think I might be hallucinating, so I thought I'd call the next insane person I know.'

No, that would simply be ridiculous. Not only that but there was a safety issue as well: Oswald couldn't afford the public questioning his sanity because of one thoughtless text falling into the wrong hands.

He pocketed his phone to keep from making a mistake, and actually went toward the bathroom, where he'd told you he'd be.

Despite everything, there was still hope. You neither knew about the situation with Ed nor about his possibly damaged psychological state, and as long as you stayed with him, he'd manage. He'd bottle up his emotions over the day and find a way to let them out when you weren't there. After today he couldn't afford to be seen by you in such a miserable state again.

That day in the library, Ed had promised not to speak a word of the love confession to you, telling Oswald that he deserved it, that it was completely rational, no, the best decision even: to keep it a secret. He had almost been eager to assure him. Maybe Oswald's theory was true and Ed was planning on eventually getting together with him and you. Yet he had been so shocked. Oswald gasped for breath. Could it be that...could it be that Ed was only in love with you?

With all that had happened it certainly wasn't implausible: the way Ed acted around you, looked at you, cared for you, all of it was filled with love, of whichever type that may be. In Oswald's dreams, all three of you had been in love with each other, never just with one, but knowing what Ed had told him...it might be true!

Oswald collided with the door to the private bathrooms. "Ow!" Rubbing his face, he turned around to make sure no one had heard him. The way there on his shaky legs had taken him long enough and he lacked the energy to look for a new place.

He hastily locked the door and turned to the big mirror.

"Oh God!"

He looked horrible!

Strands of hair had dropped and clung to his sweaty skin, his dark circles were reinforced by the mascara he thought he'd removed sometime yesterday in between glasses of alcohol, and his expression was utterly pathetic.

How could Ed love someone like this? How could you? Had Oswald only made himself look this bad after finding his father's remains missing?

In any case: you had wanted to know whether he'd self-harmed or worse, tried to kill himself, so he couldn't have looked alright.

God, his whole existence was a mess: losing bis best friend because the thought of Oswald loving him was too much for the tall brown-haired genius, losing the public because his father who might just be a hallucination was asking things of him, and now looking like this! His eyes watered again. Of course Ed wouldn't settle for him!

He approached the sink and poured the first wave of water onto his face.

Whether he was handsome in general or not, he was unsightly today. Possibly this week. Hopefully it didn't go back to since Ed had left.

He poured another handful of water over his face.

Of course Ed doesn't love me.

He attempted to wash the make-up smudges away.

And why would you love him?

He began to rub at the mascara remains on his eyelids.

Why did you still care for him?

The mascara didn't budge.

What was keeping you from going to Ed, genius, tall and handsome Ed?

Maybe you would soon.

What would Oswald do then?!

He wouldn't kill you, that was out of the question. Just thinking about how concerned you already were made him feel guilty.

No, he wouldn't harm you, wouldn't even think about manipulating your relationship with Ed. He'd be your friend, watch as Ed got back the love Oswald had stolen from him, and as your concern for Oswald was washed away by Ed's love.

Finally seeing you happy would have to be compensation enough.

Only that you'd probably still worry about him, wouldn't you? Try and ask what's wrong, then support your friend without ever being entrusted with his secret problem, that's what you'd do, and God, it would make things ten times more heartbreaking for Oswald! He couldn't fall out of love with you! If he still loved Ed, who'd broken off all contact, then how would he be able to let go of much more innocent you, how would he endure seing the two people he loved daily?

Surely Ed would come back to the Van Dahl estate if he became your boyfriend...or would living with his friend be too weird if he was in a relationship? Ed had brought Isabella to the mansion but maybe he'd prefer to settle down in his own house, move in with you and leave Oswald alone?

That would be horrible! Except...maybe he'd need the distraction, the time for himself to cry without making either of you worry.

At the thought a next wave of tears spilled from his eyes.

I'd live with it somehow, he told himself. I love them too much to break off contact, he thought, even as sobs shook his body.

_________________

Ed's phone rang again. He made a show out of ignoring it but as soon as Barbara looked away to "Tabby", he threw a look at it. It was you.

"I need to answer this." His fingers were already itching to press the button.

"You do that," Barbara saw your name on the screen, then lowered her voice, "and don't forget: you need to protect the last person you love. Oswald doesn't care about the people - as he so elegantly told the whole city - or those he loves. But I don't need to tell you that."

She padded his shoulder and tugged Tabitha along, and after Basil Karlo had left the three alone, only Ed remained, who hastily took the call.

____________

Author's note: I'm back again! I've gotta be careful that I don't overwork myself with this fic. These last weeks it was kind of difficult to continue not just because I was busy & then ill but cause I felt like publishing it didn't pay off (both tumblr & A03 formatting takes more time than I'd like & writing for a niche couple in an old fandom doesn't help with getting comments either 🥲 But don't worry, I get that not everyone has the energy to comment :))

Next chapter->

#gotham #gotham tv #gotham 2014 #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot x reader #edward nygma x oswald cobblepot x reader #edward nygma x reader #gotham!edward nygma x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #gotham!oswald cobblepot x reader #nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot x reader hurt/comfort #nygmobblepot hurt/comfort #edward nygma x reader hurt/comfort #oswald cobblepot x reader hurt/comfort #nygmobblepot x reader angst #edward nygma x reader angst #oswald cobblepot x reader angst #nygmobblepot angst

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